The Night of the Resignation
by Andamogirl
Summary: Artemus Gordon has resigned from the Secret Service, left James West and is forced to work for Dr. Miguelito Loveless, but things are not as simple as they seem. Introducing Michelito Loveless and a group of Arapahos warriors.
1. Teaser

**THE NIGHT OF THE RESIGNATION**

 **By Andamogirl**

Author's notes: post season 4.

References to my story "The Night of the Cheyenne called White Eagle.

References to the following episodes: "The Night of the Howling Light"; "The Night of the Firebrand", "The Night of the Burning Diamond."

I put the Arapaho words in italic in order to separate them from the Cheyenne words.

 _James: Artie, how do you plan to escape?_

 _Artie: Oh, the usual. Guile. Cunning. Trickery._

"The Night of the Arrow"

 _Hugo: Unless it's because they feel that Dr. Miguelito Loveless is behind all this. I believe you two had some experiences with him._

 _Jim_ _: Oh, we had some experiences. But I happen to know that Miguelito Loveless has been dead for five years._

 _Hugo_ _: Well, evidently, you didn't know that he had a son, Miguelito Loveless Jr._

 _Jim_ _: Of course I know that he had a son. I've known him since he was that big._

 _Hugo_ _: He's_ _still_ _that big._

 _Michelito_ _: My father died of ulcers. Ulcers brought on by the two of you constantly interfering with his plans!  
_ _Carmelita_ _: Our father was the greatest man in the world.  
_ _Michelito_ _: He was the greatest man who ever lived. Till I was born, of course._

The Wild Wild West revisited

Warnings: non-consensual drug use; drug addiction; drug withdrawal.

WWW

 **TEASER**

 _Railroad depot, Washington D.C._

 _The Wanderer_

Utterly stunned James West blinked twice. "You what?" he croaked out.

Looking gloomy Artemus Gordon put his bag on the work table, taking in Jims shocked expression as he said calmly, "You heard me, Jim. I'm leaving the Secret Service. I sent a telegram to Colonel Richmond and to President Grant. I tendered them my resignation this morning." He opened the door of the parlor car leading to the rear platform of the Wanderer.

Feeling as though he had been punched in the gut, Jim placed a friendly hand on Artemus's shoulder. "Why Artie? You never told me you were planning to quit from the Secret Service – and leave me at the same time." He frowned, puzzled and asked, "Why? Did I do something that hurt you? Because whatever it is that I've done, I'm sorry for it and I apologize. If it's something I can change, I will. I'll do whatever you want me to do, if it means you stay Artie. I don't want to lose you. You're more than a partner to me, more than my best friend, you're like a brother to me. Actually you and I are blood brothers."

Sighing Artemus shook his head. "It has nothing to do with you, Jim. Honest. But with me. I had a revelation this morning while I was watching my reflection in the mirror and seeing a few gray hairs at my temples. I'm 45. I now have more time behind me than ahead of me. I have no wife, no children, no house, just two horses, Lockpick and Mo and two cats, Marmie and Aztec."

Pointing at Marmalade, AG and Aztec sitting on the couch, Jim said, "Precisely. Are you going to leave your cats and Lockpick? They love you, Artie."

Glancing at the felines in a sphinx-style position on the couch, staring at him, Artie nodded. "And they love you too. You will take good care of them, I know." He sighed and continued, "All I have except my horses and cats fills two trunks and the bag I'm taking with me. I'll send someone to collect the trunks later. I'm taking my horse Mo'éhno'ha Ȯhtameōhtsėstse (Walking Horse in Cheyenne language) and my saddle and my gun and my rifle, but that's all."

He sighed. "I always lived for others, when I was an actor, and as a soldier and as a spy, and when I was in the Secret Service… Now it's time for me to live for myself, before I'm old, _I'm too old_ , and before it's too late for me to appreciate… well everything else, and have a personal life. That's why I'm leaving. I will head to the west first, to visit American Knife and I will spend some time there with my band for some peace and rest, living a simple life… and then, and then… well, I don't know, yet."

He took his bag and moved toward the rear platform. Once there he looked up at the dark clouds hanging over head, obscuring the sun and rain started to fall, a few drops at first and then, within seconds, hard, water pooling on his hat, rolling off his raincoat lined with fur inside.

But Jim intercepted him before he had time to go down the metal steps. "Stay! Please. Don't leave me. I can't do anything without you."

The older man shook his head. "It's too late. I've resigned and my decision is irrevocable. I'm leaving, I'm leaving you, the Secret Service and Washington. You should have a new partner soon. Maybe Jeremy Pike or Frank Harper. They're good agents."

Drenched, Jim shook his head, his slick and flattened, dripping hair. "I don't want any other partner, Artie, I want you. Stay, please." He shivered at the coldness of the winter rain. "Wait for the end of the downpour, it will give us time to talk about all this…" Feeling desperate, he added, "You are abandoning me! Like I'm no one to you, just a partner and nothing more. How can you do that to me after what we've been through together? You're like my brother Artie, we're family. Family members stick together to face all situations. We'll face this… how can I put this in words…? This 'mid-life crisis' together and we'll eventually find a solution. I know that. But we need time. Speaking of time, there is still time to reconsider your decision… Maybe the Colonel and the President didn't sign any official papers yet…"

Ignoring that plea and Jim's last effort to dissuade him to leave, and ignoring the heavy, pouring rain too, Artie didn't say a single word and he went down the stairs. He hung his full travel bag over the pommel of his soaked and slippery saddle.

He mounted his dripping pinto horse waiting quietly on the station platform and glanced up at his former partner who looked totally lost and haggard.

He offered him a sad, parting smile and said, "Take care of yourself Jim, be careful, and live long," and then he left, tears streaming down his face, mixing with the rain.

Devastated, tears welling up in his eyes and then merging with the thick droplets getting into his eyes, Jim rasped, "Artie, no, don't leave…" He squinted against the onslaught of water and he was so focused on Artemus leaving, that he didn't notice two men standing by a corner of a warehouse, hiding in the shadows… who left, following Artie discreetly. "Artemus…"

Thunder rumbled in the distance. Lightning flashed across the sky illuminating the dark clouds and the rain continued to fall.

Soaked through to his underwear Jim headed back inside while thinking he should send a telegram to Colonel Richmond.

He shook his head. Seeing him in person would be better in order to tell all that to his CO.

WWW

 _Later in Colonel Richmond's office_

A look of surprise crossed Colonel Richmond's face, then, livid, he let out, "He _what_? He left? The President and I both refused Artemus's resignation!" He said leaving his chair to sit on his desk. "I sent him a telegram this morning after I received his, telling him about the President's and my refusal, and ordering him to come here as soon as possible so we could talk, but he _deliberately ignored i_ t. He left Washington – and he _disobeyed a direct order_!"

There was a very loud clap of thunder and a bright strike of lightning lit up the entire room, hard, pouring rain lashing against the windows.

Jim nodded. "He didn't say anything to me about your telegram, Sir."

Richmond nodded. "Of course, he didn't! He wanted to leave without anyone stopping him. I should have gone to the Wanderer in person to talk to him, but I was busy."

Jim proposed, "I can find him Sir. Bring him back here. He left an hour ago, he shouldn't be very far. He has probably only reached the outskirts of the Capital. It will be easy to find him. His horse, Mo, is easily identifiable, and there's only one passable road to leave Washington. The others are under construction and closed."

Richmond shook his head. "No, not you, Jim. I'm not going to ask you to arrest your own partner, a man who's like a brother to you."

Surprised Jim lifted his eyebrows. "What? Arrest Artemus?"

The Colonel nodded, still angry. "Yes arrest Artemus Gordon! He still works for the Treasury Department, he's still an agent of the Secret Service, he's still an officer and he disobeyed a direct order from his superior, Me! It has a name: insubordination, and as you know, it's a punishable offense covered under Article 91 of the Uniform Code of Military Justice." He calmed down and added, "I don't want him to be court martialed though, just imprisoned to remind him that he depends on a chain of command, and that he must obey his superiors, in the military and to his Commander in Chief."

In defense mode, Jim nodded. "I understand Colonel, but it's not Artemus's fault. I met Dr. Henderson on my way here and we had a talk. I told him about Artie's behavior during the last weeks and his resignation from the Secret Service and then he told me that Artie was probably suffering from a 'severe depression'. It's a recent discovery by psychologists who evaluate, diagnose, treat, and study mental processes."

Richmond nodded. "I have heard about it. It's a new science, a science of behavior and mind. Dr. Henderson is fascinated by that."

Lightning cracked overhead and thunder rumbled across the sky.

Jim nodded. "Yes, Sir. Dr. Henderson explained to me what it is. It's a major depressive disorder which affect a person's personal, work, as well as sleeping, eating habits, and general health. Other symptoms of depression include poor concentration, very low mood, irritability, insomnia and fatigue. Dr. Henderson told me that Artie's severe depression was probably triggered by his last almost-fatal injury. He told me it happened to people after a trauma, like looking death in the face like Artemus did. As you know, Colonel he spent three months at the San Francisco hospital, between life and death."

James Richmond nodded. "I know that and no one, surgeons included – except you – thought that he would pull through."

Jim nodded and continued, "Since we came back here, one month ago, I noticed that he's been in a state of low mood: he's quiet and withdrawn and he's sad. He can be irritable too and have sudden inexplicable outbursts of anger – it's very un-Artie-like. He's not enjoying anymore what he loves the most: being in his lab building things or cooking in the galley. And he barely eats anything! He doesn't play with the cats too and they're confused. He has difficulty in falling or staying asleep and difficulty in concentrating too. What else? What's very un-Artie like too, is that he started exercising, lifting weights, hitting the punching bag, doing push-ups ... things that he usually likes to watch me doing while eating a cake with one hand and holding his cup of coffee in the other. He lost weight and gained muscles. Oh! And he can't bear to be touched anymore and he's drinking a lot of whiskey too, all day long, usually starting at breakfast. I told him I was worried about all that and he said I didn't have to be, that he was very fatigued, that's all, and that it would pass with time. But it didn't."

Richmond sighed. "No, it didn't, obviously."

There was another flash of light accompanied by booming thunder.

Continuing, Jim added, "I didn't know he was severely depressed. I should have contacted Dr. Henderson. If I did it, Artie would be fine and still with me."

The head of the US Secret Service nodded. "I didn't know that either, Jim. I didn't now till just now. And don't blame yourself. You couldn't guess he was suffering from a severe depression. What Artemus needs is a long medical leave. After I talk to him, he'll spend his first week in a cell in headquarters, here, in order to remind him that he has to obey orders from his superiors. Then he'll have to go to the Military Hospital for a complete medical and mental evaluation. He needs to be treated for his depression. Dr. Henderson will supervise his psychologist colleagues." The Colonel paused and sighed. "I'm going to send Jeremy Pike and two agents to find him and place him under arrest. Go back to the Wanderer Jim, and stay there while you wait for a new assignment – that you'll do solo."

Nodding Jim said, "Yes Sir." Then he pivoted and headed toward the door. He stopped there and looked at his superior. "When Artie is back, I'd like to talk to him Sir."

Richmond nodded. "I'll arrange a meeting."

Jim smiled. "Thank you, Sir." He opened the door and left the room.

Once in the street, James West mounted Blackjack but headed in the opposite direction of the railroad station. He had to find his partner.

Only he could bring Artemus back without gunshots and bloodshed. His intuition was telling him that his partner's arrest wouldn't be a peaceful one.

Colonel Richmond turned around peering out of the rain streaked window, watching people in the street fighting the downpour, clutching their umbrellas.

For now Artemus's plan was going smoothly, he mused.

WWW

 _Much later in a saloon on the outskirts of Washington D.C._

Leaning against the bar, Artemus Gordon was filling a third glass of whiskey when his sixth sense warned him of an immediate danger.

Glass in hand he slowly turned around and watched Jeremy Pike and two fellow agents he didn't know enter the room, heading toward him, slaloming between the patrons seated around the tables. Their hats and coats were dripping rain and their boots were caked with mud.

It was the deluge outside. The thunder and lightning accompanying the rainstorm.

He raised his glass in salute and smiled. "Hello Jeremy. What brings you here and your companions? A glass of cheap liquor perhaps?" Then he took a sip.

Removing his black hat Pike shook his head. "Not while I'm on duty, but thank you for the offer Artemus. The President and Colonel Richmond didn't accept your resignation. The Colonel ordered you to come to his office and you didn't." He paused. "You disobeyed a direct order."

His face expressionless, Artemus drank his shot of whiskey down, dropping the glass onto the glossy wooden counter, beside the almost empty bottle.

He pulled out a long, fat, cigar from the inside pocket of his gold-colored corduroy velvet jacket, then took out a small pocket knife, cutting the end of the cigar before bringing it to his lips.

The saloon keeper stopped what he was doing, wiping the counter down with a dish rag and pulled a match box out from his black apron.

He struck it on the counter and lit the cigar, pushing an ashtray toward his patron. He watched Artemus drop the little bit of cigar into it. "Nice cigar," he said.

Smiling, Artie said, "Thanks, it's a gift from the Pres… from an old friend," and he started puffing on his cigar a few times.

Jeremy Pike continued, "You're _under arrest_ for insubordination, Artemus. My orders are to bring you to Colonel Richmond's office. He wants to talk to you – before putting you in a cell for a while, I suppose. He didn't tell me." He pulled a piece of paper from the pocket of his jacket, unfolded it and showed to the other man. "I have an arrest warrant with your name on it."

Everyone in the room froze, stared at Jeremy then they focused on Artemus. The pianist stopped and the conversation gradually ceased. A heavy silence settled.

Taking the cigar out of his mouth, Artie nodded. "I don't want to talk to him. I'm done with the Secret Service. Period," he said, a cloud of bluish smoke trailing out of his mouth. "Even if my resignation wasn't accepted. I really don't care. I'm leaving for the west, for the Indian territory, that's all." He turned around, offering his back to the agents. He poured more whiskey in his glass, swallowed the liquor in two gulps and then added, "You won't stop me.

Pike frowned. "I will."

Smirking, Artie he tapped the ash off the end of his cigar into the ashtray. "I wouldn't bet on it."

The special agent pocketed the warrant and took a step forward. "I have to. I have to obey orders." He paused. "I can't let you go. Be reasonable Artemus. Come back with me to Washington – willingly."

Facing the mirror hanging behind the bar Artie smiled, watching closely the reflections of the other men, their hands curled around the revolvers at their hips, twitching nervously.

He placed his cigar in the ashtray. "Don't do that," he said, in a dangerous, cold voice. He poured himself another glass of alcohol, raised the whiskey to his lips and took a sip. "Don't." Tipping his head back, the liquor was gone in less than a second. "Don't do that," he repeated, "Or you're gonna regret it." He pushed the empty bottle to the side and snapped his fingers. "A bottle of bourbon, your best," he said.

The saloon keeper put a bottle of bourbon on the counter and a new glass which he filled while keeping a wary eye on the man with the arrest warrant.

Pike tried a peaceful approach again, "Artemus be reasonable… "

Taking his bourbon filled glass, Artie said, "Go to hell!" he downed his drink in a swift gulp and slammed the glass on the counter. He licked his lips. "Mmm, it's a good one."

The old man behind the bar nodded. "It's my best bourbon…" And then he took a cautious step back toward the large mirror bracing for trouble.

Nodding, Artie lowered the glass to the counter, ignoring Pike and the two other agents and read the label of the bottle.

Pike sighed with a sorry look. "Then you leave me no choice, Artemus." He gave a nod to the agents accompanying him. "Arrest that man!"

The two men immediately moved toward Artemus, guns unholstered this time.

In a flash, Artemus suddenly whirled around and punched them, hard - hearing a satisfying crunch as he broke the agents noses - sending them flying in the air.

The two men crashed hard on an empty table, breaking it and crumpled to the floor, both unconscious among the surprised patrons, blood pouring from their broken noses.

Having been Jim's sparring partner for years had its benefits, he thought, pleased with himself.

Artie's mouth twitched slightly. Upset, he said, "I hate violence. But when it is necessary, I use it." Rubbing his aching knuckles, he looked at Jeremy again – watching his hand hover a few inches above the butt of his gun – and let out, "You should have chosen more experienced agents to accompany you, Jeremy. They're not very good." He turned around and poured himself another drink – and saw Jeremy take his gun from its holster in the mirror. He placed his cigar back in his mouth and took a new drag and slowly blew smoke rings. "Are you going to shoot me?" He asked.

Pike cocked the hammer of his Colt. "If I have to, I will to incapacitate you. A bullet in your leg will stop you instantly. Artemus Gordon, in the name of the President of the United States, you're under arrest for insubordination to your superior officer. Hands up and no tricks!"

Sensing an inevitable gunfight coming, and possible stray bullets, the people gathered there, saloon-keeper included, scrambled out of the way and left the saloon. But two men sat in the back, next to a group of green plants, half-hidden by them, stayed there to watch the spectacle. The tallest man was sipping a beer, while the other, smaller one was shuffling a deck of cards, an half-empty glass of whiskey to his left.

Eyes riveted on Artemus.

His face neutral Artemus calmly faced the other agent again. He held the smoke in his mouth for a moment, then blew it out.

Licking his lips nervously, Jeremy Pike immediately felt that something was going to happen… Artemus had a glint of mischief in his eyes, a glint of excitement too. "You aren't planning on doing anything stupid, are you, Artemus?" he said.

There was another flash, and the sky roared once more.

Raising his left hand, Artie said, "You're the one with the gun pointed at me Jeremy. No Alright, you win…We're still friends right?"

Pike nodded, but he didn't trust Artemus. "Yes, we are."

Smiling, Artie put his cigar back in his mouth and took another puff of it. Then he lowered it to the ashtray, again. "Good. I don't have many friends. I don't want to lose one."

He raised his right hand, but much slower than the other one... releasing a small round smoke bomb from his sleeve. It exploded when it touched the floor; instantly releasing a thick cloud of red smoke.

Pike hurriedly moved back, but it was too late.

In a flash Artemus pulled out his artificial lung from the left pocket of his jacket and pressed it tightly over his mouth and nose.

He smiled hearing Jeremy curse, then heard a thud as the other man collapsed to the dusty wooden floorboards, rendered unconscious by the knock out gas.

Smiling, Artemus paid for the bottles of whiskey and bourbon, blindly throwing a 10 dollars bill on the bar. Then, when the red smoke had dissipated, he placed the breathing mask back in his pocket. "No tricks? Me? Have we met before?" He grinned from ear to ear and chuckled.

Pike didn't respond with anything, of course. He would sleep for at least for 8 hours.

Bringing his cigar to his mouth again, Artemus smoked it slowly, enjoying it, eyes closed, relaxing. Then, after a few minutes, Artie sat it back in the ashtray.

He poured himself a last glass of bourbon and drank it down in one gulp. "Okay, old boy, time to leave before President Grant sends his troopers on your trail. After what you just did to Jeremy and to the others, he might." He said.

He stepped over Jeremy's motionless body, saying, "Sorry Jeremy," and, followed by all the people relieved gazes, he left the almost emptied saloon.

The two men seated at the table stood and the smallest one picked up the arrest warrant from Jeremy Pike's jacket pocket and slid it into his. "The boss will love to have that," he said.

The tallest man nodded. "Sure thing!"

WWW

Artemus had stepped out onto the boardwalk flipping up the collar of his warm raincoat as the rain was coming down in sheets from the dark sky, when he found himself face to face with Jim waiting beside Mo, his reins tied to the hitching post. He was affectionately rubbing the gelding's neck.

Artie wasn't surprised to find his ex-partner here. "I was expecting to see you Jim; I thought you would be the one to show me the arrest warrant, not Jeremy." He watched as a bolt of lightning zigged across the sky. Within seconds the rain grew heavier and the air thick with electricity. He looked back at the other man. "I was disappointed."

His hand resting on the butt of his gun Jim smiled. "I'm sorry. Colonel Richmond sent them, and not me. I came here as fast as possible, but they found you first. He ordered me to go back to the Wanderer to wait for a new assignment and I disobeyed a direct order. You and I will end up in a cell together buddy. It won't be the first time. I especially love that time where we escaped our cell using a cigar with a thermite charge…"

Nodding, Artie added, "And we ended up sneaking into Midas' house, yes, I remember. The boeuf stroganoff was delicious."

Suddenly a particularly loud clap of thunder struck lighting up the dark sky and the horses huffed nervously, moving to one side.

Smiling, Jim nodded. "Yours is delicious too. How's Jeremy?"

Rubbing the muzzle of his painted horse called Mo'éhno'ha Ȯhtameōhtsėstse soothingly Artie said, "Sleeping thanks to knock out gas; and the others are unconscious too, I hit them, hard." He shook his head. "I'm not going back with you, Jim. I don't want to end up behind bars…"

Rubbing his jaw with his wet fingers, Jim said, "You won't have to stay long in a cell, and you won't be going to a federal prison, but to a cell in the Secret Service headquarters. For a week, the Colonel told me. Then you'll have to go to the Military Hospital for a complete medical and mental evaluation. See? That's nothing. Come back with me buddy."

Looking at Jim again Artie snorted as Mo nuzzled his face with affection. "A mental evaluation? What for? My old nuggin' is fine. I'm perfectly sane."

Frowning in concern Jim said, "I met Dr. Henderson on my way to the Secret Service HQ and we discussed you. I told him about your behavior during the last few weeks, not eating, not playing with the cats, not building bombs in your lab, not cooking, being sad, quiet, withdrawn, etc. And about your resignation. And he told me that you were probably suffering from a 'severe depression', probably triggered by your last almost-fatal injury. He told me it happened to people after a trauma, like looking death in the face like you did. Psychologists will help you. Dr. Henderson will supervise their work." He paused, watching the drenching rain running down his hat and coat in rivulets. "You need help, Artie."

His eyes darkening with anger, Artie said, "I now understand why you spoke about a 'mental evaluation' Jim. After being in prison for a week, I will be kept in a padded-cell, in a straight jacket… in observation, watched round the clock like a lab rat by a bunch of alienists, like as if I were a madman, and I'm not a madman. I'm perfectly sane, I'm okay." He shook his head, his lips were pressed into a thin line. "Never."

Lightning flashed, the boom of thunder followed, loud like the sound of a cannon. The rain came down in sheets, more and more, puddles spreading rapidly across the deserted and muddy street.

Horrified at this idea, Jim said, "Dr. Henderson would never do that! And the President would never let him do that." And he sneezed.

Brushing water droplets off his coat, Artie nodded, "God bless you."

Insisting, Jim reached out, palm up, in a pleading gesture. "Please. It's for your own good buddy." Then all of a sudden before Artie had time to do say anything and to do anything, he balled his hand into a fist and in a flash, punched his (still) partner, right under his chin.

A split second later Artie's knees buckled and he went down, seeing stars dancing in front of his eyes. Jim caught him as he collapsed. Then he pressed a pressure point between Artemus's shoulder and neck, rendering him unconscious as the uppercut hadn't. "I'm sorry," he said.

He quickly and gently eased Artemus down onto the wooden boardwalk, on his back and said, "I didn't have any other choice. I have to bring you to the Service Secret headquarters. You are going to sleep in a cell there tonight, and tomorrow you'll see the Colonel." He fished a pre-loaded syringe containing a powerful sedative (of Artie's invention) out of the inside pocket of coat and uncapped it.

He pressed the needle into his best friend's neck and said, "I can be sure you won't escape this way." Then he re-capped the empty syringe and placed it back in place.

Mo snorted and tossed his head. Then he whinnied in distress seeing his master sprawled on the muddy boardwalk, unconscious.

Smiling reassuringly Jim patted the Cheyenne horse's neck soothingly. "He's alright, don't worry." He unbuckled his best friend's gunbelt – just to be on the safe side – and slid it in his left saddle bag.

He picked the larger man up and Artemus's weight nearly made his knees buckle, but he managed to lift him up to Mo's saddle.

He had settled Artie across the saddle of the pinto horse when two men holding guns left the saloon and framed him. "Drop your gun mister," the taller commanded while the other pointed his Colt against Artemus's head. "Drop it and move back or my friend Chase here will kill your friend." He grabbed a handful of Artie's hair and raised his head. "We have him. The boss is going to be happy."

Moving back Jim dropped his gun to the disjointed planks of the boardwalk. There was a blinding flash and then the boom of thunder rang out.

Using a rope, the smaller goon secured Artie on Mo's saddle then jumped on his own horse, taking the reins of Artie's gelding in his hand.

Smiling in victory, the taller man mounted his own horse and said, "Follow us and he's dead." Then he went away at a trot, head ducked against the cold, stinging rain.

His friend followed with Artemus in tow.

Jim watched them leave and had to reluctantly resolve not to follow them, so as not to take any chances. The life of his best friend depended on it. He said, "I will find you, Artie." He mounted Blackjack and urged his horse on into a galop through the downpour.

Tbc.


	2. Act One

**THE NIGHT OF THE RESIGNATION**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT ONE**

 _In Loveless's underground hideout in Washington D.C._

 _The next morning_

Dr. Miguelito Quixote Loveless perched on a stool looking down at his unconscious prisoner strapped down on an operating table with an admiring look.

Besides having an encyclopedic knowledge, a brilliant scientific mind, and being a scholar, Artemus Gordon was a gadgetery genius and visionary inventor who could whip up an invention anywhere and build truly amazing things way ahead of his time. Like him, he thought. If he wasn't his enemy, he could have been his greatest friend, he added mentally.

He continued his musing: he had asked Burton, his lead henchman to strip the other man of his clothes down to his short black underwear removing at the same time all the mini arsenal that the agent had hidden in them.

Burton had placed in that small box: a Remington double Derringer, a switchblade knife, a couple of throwing knives, a collection of various explosives devices, a piece of malleable explosive coupled with fuses and detonators in a small bag (but separated), plus a series of very useful gadgets like a breathing mask, a breakaway blowtorch disguised as a cigar, lock-picks, multi-use thin and long wires, tiny squirt cans containing acid and, to finish an explosive pocket watch.

It had looked suspicious immediately, so he had opened it and found inside the same mechanism and explosive he had discovered by closely examining a mini time bomb. But that explosive device was even more miniaturized and worthy of a master watchmaker.

Looking briefly at Burton, then at his prisoner again, Loveless started a monologue, "Artemus Gordon is such a perfect, perfect agent that it's hard to believe he's a wanted man for disobeying a direct order from his superior and that he was going to be arrested for insubordination." He looked at the arrest warrant signed by Colonel Richmond that Chase had pulled out from Pike's jacket pocket. "But it's true." He paused. "Even if he's wanted by Colonel James Richmond, he's not a bad man, and he never will be. He won't help me to get rid of President Grant, he's still loyal to him, loves him like he was his own father…" He placed the warrant on his work table and added, "But a man can be forced to act against his will, in many ways. That's why I planned to kidnap him – and put him under surveillance." He looked up at his huge top henchman and personal bodyguard standing at his side and holding a ready-to-inject syringe. "Give me the syringe, Burton."

The bulky man complied. "Yes, Doctor."

Using his free hand the little man shook Artemus's broad shoulder. "Wake up Mr. Gordon! You have slept enough. Open your eyes now!"

Shortly after Artie's eyes fluttered open as he awoke slowly; his head was killing him and he was groggy. "Ow! That… hurts," he whispered. Through a blurred vision he recognized Loveless's face. "Oh no… not… you." He blinked and tried unsuccessfully to bring Loveless into focus but couldn't. "Drugged me?"

Dr. Loveless smiled. "It's good to see you too Mr. Gordon." Then he shook his head. "No, I didn't drug you, your partner did. He wanted to transport you to Washington without you trying to escape, but my men intercepted you before he could do it."

His brow furrowing in worry, Artie rasped out, "J'm is he…?"

Loveless shook his head. "Mr. West is safe, for now." He placed the tip of the needle against Artie's neck. "I had to wait till the drug leaves your system before injecting you with mine, to avoid a bad reaction. I don't want to kill you, Mr. Gordon."

Blinking dazedly, Artemus slurred, "R'lly? I'm 'fraid but the drug J'm administrated me's still r'nning in my blood stream, I'm still g'oggy…"

Frowning, upset, the diminutive man placed the syringe on his work table, next to the arrest warrant for Artemus Gordon. "Then I will wait. I want you to help me."

His mind fuzzy, Artie rasped out, "H'pl ya?"

Loveless nodded. "Yes, help me." He watched Artemus close his eyes and go limp. Soon after he heard him snoring. He sighed. "Let him sleeping that drug off."

WWW

 _Later_

Pale, licking his dry lips, Artemus said, "Release me, I promise not to do anything to you… as you can see I'm not in state to hurt a fly."

Loveless hesitated for a few seconds. Artemus Gordon was well-known for his tricks. Then he nodded. The agent was gadget-less. He wasn't a threat. "Burton, the straps, and help Mr. Gordon to sit!"

Burton removed the straps immobilizing Artie on the operating table and maneuvered the other man into a sitting position. "Don't throw up on me!" he said. Seeing that Artemus was closing his dark-ringed eyes, he grabbed Artie's shoulder and shook him, not too gently. "Wake up Federal!"

Artie's face twisted up in anger. He glared at the minion, got to his feet and suddenly hit him square on his nose, with all he had left – breaking the fragile cartilage there. "Don't touch me!" he growled.

Blood pouring from his broken nose and the pain making his eyes water Burton lifted a fist as large as his head and growled, "I'm going to break all your bones one by one!"

Eyes flashing, Artie jutted his chin out defiantly and raised his tightened fists aggressively. "Try me!"

Loveless raised his hand. "No you won't! Calm down, Burton!" The thug complied reluctantly groaning like an angry bear as he took a step backward. Then he gave Artemus a black look. "You promised not to do anything, Mr. Gordon!"

Pointing at Burton wiping blood away with the back of his hand, Artie nodded. "To you, not to him." Then looking back at Loveless. "I don't like to be touched." Then he added, "I'm thirsty. Do you have any whiskey here? It would help to clear my mind too."

Loveless nodded too. "Burton, pour a glass of whiskey for Mr. Gordon, up to the brim, while I'm explaining to him why I need him."

Burton glared at Artie but complied.

Looking at Artemus's strong body from head to toe, Loveless said, "You're very fit, Mr. Gordon. Exercising with your partner did you good."

Relaxing Artie replied, "Ex-partner. And what do you need me for?"

WWW

 _Colonel Richmond's office, at the same time_

Colonel James Richmond glared at his two special agents who had returned empty handed and who, because of Jim, had let Artemus Gordon be kidnapped.

Furious, he threw the written reports of his two men, he had just read aloud, on his desk which was cluttered with piles of folders. "God knows where Artemus is now!"

Embarrassed Jeremy Pike looked briefly at his feet then back at his superior. "Artemus Koed my men and used a knockout gas to neutralize me, Sir. For my defense, Colonel, he is Artemus Gordon. That man is really smart and totally unpredictable."

The head of the Secret Service nodded. "Yes I know. That's precisely why he's a such a damn _good agent_. He can be the devil himself when he wants to."

Knowing that more than anyone else because he lived with Artie 365 days a year, and worked with the older man for ten years now, Jim nodded. "We don't know who kidnapped him, Sir. The man, the leader of the duo, just said, 'We have him. The boss is going to be happy." He paused. "He wanted Artie, not me. that's why I'm still here. And as you know, Artemus has a very long list of enemies…"

James Richmond nodded. "I know that. Names have been piling up on that list since the war." He ran a nervous hand through his grayish hair, sighed and added, "Looking for a needle in a haystack would be a simpler task than to find out where he is now."

In optimistic mood, Jim replied, "It's going to be difficult, Sir. But not impossible. We have many agents in the country as well as many informants. They will help us to find Artemus."

Richmond nodded. "Fortunately, yes."

Intrigued, Jim furrowed his brow as he noticed that Richmond looked uncomfortable, was agitated, was sweating and didn't look at Jeremy and him directly.

Like someone who's lying. He had seen this telltale reaction before, many times, he reflected. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously and then, in a flash he understood the whole thing. It had been invented, and by an expert on trickery… "

He ended his reflection as, outside the thunder roared again and the lightning flashed above Washington after a short lull.

He continued, "With all the due respect Colonel, you're a terrible liar," he said, ignoring Jeremy's look of surprise and noticed Colonel Richmond flinching almost imperceptibly. He knew then he was right and he continued, "It's Artie's plan, isn't it? I understand now… He was never depressed, he never resigned. He did all this to attract someone who he knew would be interested in a wanted man fleeing the Secret Service, in an almost outlaw, in a man who didn't want anything to do with the Secret Service anymore, by a genius possessing multiple talents in chemistry and in creating weapons, bombs especially… Only one name comes to my mind, Sir, Miguelito Loveless."

He paused watching for Richmond's reaction. But there was none. His face was neutral. He had regained control of himself.

Pike let out a groan. "It's Artemus's plan alright. That man can use guile, cunning and trickery like no one else I know. It's natural to him, like breathing oxygen."

Still staring at Richmond, Jim went on, "Artie's on a solo mission right? He infiltrated Loveless's organization that way… He's playing Trojan horse to capture Loveless and his accomplices…" He frowned in concern, realizing that Artie was now in the lion's den. "He's on his own, improvising…"

Richmond shook his head. "I must say… that you have a vivid imagination, Jim."

Pause.

The downpour became steadily worse as the rainstorm got closer to the Treasury Department Headquarters building.

Upset Jim knitted his eyebrows. "I just know my partner really well, Colonel, and I know that he's capable of a deceitful and Machiavellian scheming."

Suddenly the back door of the room opened and Ulysses S. Grant entered Richmond's office, lit cigar in hand, surrounded by a cloud of blue smoke.

Immediately the three men present in the room stood at attention.

Chewing his long, fat, cigar, the President stopped in front of Jim and Jeremy and said, "At ease, gentlemen. I was coming here to ask Colonel Richmond if he had some news about Artemus's secret mission, when I heard you talking. I heard everything, since you both entered that room. Now that you have discovered the truth, Jim, I think you, and Jeremy both deserve more explanations."

Jim scowled, "So, he's on a solo mission. I was right."

Grant smiled. "Yes, you are right. He's on a special assignment, at my request. Only he could do that, with his acting talents." He let out a puff of blueish smoke and continued, "I want that twisted evil little man and his accomplices to be stopped once and for all! Meaning that he and his men will be have a trial and will end up in the gallows." Seeing that Jim was still upset and pursing up his lips he added, "Don't be mad, Artemus was very reticent about lying to you, but he had no other choice – his plan had to look real. That implied that you believe his severe depression and his abrupt departure."

Sincerely Impressed Jim relaxed and nodded. "And I believed it. He went to great lengths to make everything seem credible. I totally believed everything."

Grant nodded. "He did all this for many reasons, first to put himself in character as any good actor, then, second so that Loveless's men could report on his 'state' to their boss, then, third so that his brutal 'departure' would be credible in Loveless's eyes, and finally, as he was isolated, he made an easy target of himself... an irresistible bait."

Pike smiled with admiration. "And Loveless took the bait."

President Grant said, "Yes he did. Artemus knew that two of Loveless's henchmen were surveilling him, since he left the hospital, probably in order to kidnap him – but he didn't know for what purpose though. He proposed his plan to capture Loveless and his accomplices shortly after, and I accepted it immediately. That's why he planned a scene on the rear platform of the Wanderer…"

He paused as the thunder boomed overhead and the rain started pounding down relentlessly against the large window panes.

Now amazed by his partner's acting performance, Jim let out, "He completely fooled me… If there was a prize for the performance of an actor, he would have it right away!"

President Grant chuckled, his eyes reflecting pride. "He's very good! He's the best. He used his acting talents as a spy during the war, and he was the best spy, ever! He helped me to win battles, and the war." Looking at his other agent, he added, "But the scene in the saloon was totally improvised, knowing that Loveless's men would not be far if not in there."

Pike nodded. "They were. They kidnapped him."

Richmond looked at Jim. "Artemus had planned too that you would find him. He knew that you wouldn't follow my orders. He had planned too that you would neutralize him – and that Loveless's henchmen would seize the opportunity to kidnap him easily. He even had an agent with a rifle posted on the church tower to protect you in case they sought to kill you."

Impressed Jim said, "He really thought of everything, which is not surprising on the part of Artie who always plans everything because he hates being caught off guard." He cringed worryingly. "So Artemus is Loveless's prisoner now."

Colonel Richmond nodded. "Yes, he's in the lion's den. He's going to improvise, he's very good at it. He'll contact us when he has the opportunity. I'm sure he will succeed."

His worry deepening, Jim said. "I wouldn't be so sure, Sir. Artie's a trouble magnet. I'm sure that something bad is going to happen to him – and I won't be there to help him this time."

WWW

 _The next morning_

 _In Loveless's underground lab_

Crossing his arms on his chest, his mind made up Artemus Gordon glared at Miguelito Loveless who was sitting on a couch covered with red brocade fabric, bordered with small golden pompoms. "No. I refuse to work for you, Dr. Loveless. You're an evil twisted man, you're a megalomaniac, and you tried to kill me like what? A hundred times and in every way possible!"

Loveless chuckled. "And yet you survived, that's remarkable! But you're exaggerating. It has to be close to fifty times. I did count. The legend says that you're indestructible and I'm beginning to think it's the truth." He offered the other man a cup of hot coffee. "I'd like you to reconsider my proposition Mr. Gordon: think of it. It's me or prison…"

Taking the steaming cup, Artie nodded. "For a week only, Jim told me. Insubordination won't put me behind bars for years."

Loveless smiled. "True, but the President will never accept your resignation because he needs you. You're one of his best agents, you are multi-talented and he trust you totally. Besides, you're a role model for all the new agents of the Secret Service, along with Mr. West, and they all want to be like the two of you. Grant will keep you locked in an office, chained to a desk in the White House if necessary, but he will never let you go. Not while he's still the President anyway. If you want to be free while Grant is still the POTUS - because a great number of agents of the Secret Service will search for you, everywhere, to bring you back - there's only one solution: stay at my side. I will offer you a safe haven, everything you need and I will protect you."

Leaving his armchair, Artie moved toward the fireplace hearth. He took a swallow of the dark brown liquid in his cup and then grimaced. "Your coffee tastes bitter. It's awful." He paused and added, "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Dr. Loveless but I don't want to work for you, I'm an honorable man, not a criminal." He took another sip of coffee and grimaced again. He then added, "Besides, with my talents to disguise myself, change my voice and take any accent, no agent will ever find me. Jim included." He finished the bitter beverage and let out, "Jim's coffee is better than yours… and it's not a compliment, believe me. His coffee is undrinkable."

Loveless's blue eyes went cold and he said, "Do you know why the coffee tastes bitter?" He paused seeing Artie frown in alarm to add a dramatic effect. "That's because I put a powerful poison in it based on Amygdalin. As you probably now, as a chemist, it's a chemical compound found in many plants, but most notably in bitter almonds, hence the bitter taste. I used bitter almonds."

Paling, Artie looked down at the bottom of his now empty cup. "Good Lord…"

Loveless grinned. "To sum up, I have poisoned you with a low-acting cyanide. It's lethal, of course. And you know of course the symptoms of cyanide poisoning…?" He saw his prisoner drop his cup to the floor, where it broke in pieces, and gave Artemus a crocodile smile. "You will work for me, now – in exchange for your life. You will need an injection of anti-toxin every 6 hours to stay alive. It's not an antidote, it just stops the effects temporarily – there isn't any antidote to that poison. I made it _especially for you._ I tried it on a couple of homeless people and they died in horrible suffering. It works perfectly."

Even more paler than before, Artie rasped out, "You're a monster."

Leaving the couch, Miguelito Loveless joined Artie next to the fireplace. "The end justifies the means. And the results would be more accurate on humans than on rats." He took a sip from his own cup. "That coffee is good, when poison-free." He chuckled as Artemus glared at him and continued, "That poison will soon spread through your central nervous system and it will provoke, at the end muscular paralysis and subsequent suffocation and cardiac arrest… Onset of symptoms is usually within a few minutes. It will start first with a headache, with muscle weakness, dizziness, fast heart rate, shortness of breath, and vomiting, muscles spasms, tremors…"

Giving Loveless a dark look Artie tried to close his hands around the diminutive man's throat. "I'm going to kill you before I die." He growled, menacingly.

He'd gone so pale that he was faintly green.

But Burton standing behind his boss punched Artie in the mouth and the agent collapsed heavily to the floor like a wringing wet ragdoll, lips split, with blood on his face.

Artemus's vision blackened for a few seconds and stars appeared in front of his eyes, but he remained conscious.

Burton grinned from ear to ear, delighted for that repayment.

Miguelito Loveless shook his head. "No, you're not, because I'm the only one who can help you to survive, Mr. Gordon. Be cooperative and I'll give you the anti-toxin so you can live. Choose to leave and you will die in horrible suffering. It's up to you." He took a step back as Artemus swayed on unsteady legs. "You should feel the first effects round about now…"

Feeling dizzy Artie tried to pull himself into a sitting position but was too weak to. "I so hate you!" he said, gasping for breath. Suddenly all the color drained from his face and he gagged. "Oh boy!" Right after that he rolled on his side and vomited.

Loveless grimaced in disgust, set his cup of coffee on the low table and then asked, "Are you ready to agree to work for me, or do you want to experience the other symptoms?"

Gritting his teeth Artie let out, "Go to hell!" Then he spat a glob of bile and blood at Loveless's feet. "I will never accept that!"

He tried to move himself into a sitting position, but he was far too weak. He just lay there, his breath short and shaken with spasms.

Loveless tsked-tsked, giving Artemus a disappointed glance. "You're not reasonable Mr. Gordon. Why do you want to suffer more whereas you know there's no other solution but to agree to work for me, if you want to stay alive?"

Groaning with pain Artemus placed his hands on his temples as a violent pain exploded in his head. He could feel his muscles turning to stone then going numb and he could barely breathe. His heart started hammering in his chest painfully.

He clutched at it as a pain he had never experienced radiated through his whole body and he started to writhe on the floor, crying out.

Loveless smiled cruelly watching the other man roll in a trembling ball with pleasure, his breath harsh, deathly pale, his eyes closed. "The pain will get worse… What's your response?"

Still curled up on himself, suffering like he never had suffered before, his face damp with perspiration, his breathing harsh and labored, Artemus let out, "Please… save… me," ineffectively blinking away tears from his red-rimmed eyes. "I… I accept… I… I accept w-working for y-you. Save m-me. Plea-please!"

Loveless grinned in victory. "With great pleasure." He pulled out a small box from his inside jacket pocket and opened it. He took the already filled syringe contained inside and pushed the needle through Artemus's skin and depressed the plunger, inoculating him with a dose of the anti-toxin in the crook of his elbow. "There, you're safe now – but for six hours _only_."

Rolling on his back, burying his sweat-soaked face in his trembling hands, Artie felt the anti-toxin burn his way along his veins spreading through his whole body in a matter of seconds.

He could feel the effects almost immediately: his heartbeat accelerated and his pupils dilated. He was trembling and shaking and sweating, but he felt good – no, more than good. Great! Wonderful! Fantastic! He never has felt so relaxed and peaceful in his whole life.

He looked around him with a lopsided grin. He squinted his eyes. Everything was brightly colored, shining and moving – colors swirling together like a giant kaleidoscope.

It was so beautiful.

He felt absolutely wonderful.

The whole world ceased to exist. replaced by an overwhelming happiness. His own body felt as though it was dissolving into the radiant colored shapes dancing all around him.

He cried and then sobbed in pure, undiluted happiness, tears flowing down his cheeks. This was total and absolute bliss, this was heaven!

Loveless chuckled, checked Artie's dilated pupils – so dilated, there was almost no dark brown left - and smiled satisfied. That anti-toxin has interesting second effects… it's highly addictive even from the first dose. Your entire system has changed following that first injection." His smiled broadened. "You will do everything I want in order to have your next dose of _liquid happiness_ , Mr. Gordon. You're mine now, _mine_!"

Feeling totally relaxed, closing his eyes Artemus breathing evened out and he drifted into a drug haze with an ecstatic smile on his face.

He pulled out of his stupor one hour later.

WWW

 _Much later_

 _Loveless underground lab_

 _Artie's room_

Pale as death, shaking and sweating profusely Artemus sat on the edge of his bed and shook his head. "I was forced to accept working for you, but I won't do that! I refuse."

Loveless smiled. "Do you want to die Mr. Gordon?"

The agent of the USSS shook his head. "No." His vision blurred for a couple of seconds and he moaned feeling as weak as a newborn kitten. He folded his arms on his chest. He was cold, but his whole body was on fire at the same time. "I'm sick… and it's not the poison…"

Miguelito Loveless took a syringe already filled with the anti-toxin. "No, it's the after effects of the anti-toxin. First it gives you heaven, for one hour, only. Then the next three hours, you feel alright, normal. Then, you become sick, for another hour. The last hour is hell. During that phase, you will feel an unbearable craving for liquid bliss until the next dose, to have your heaven back."

His mind stating to get confused, Artemus flopped backward onto the mattress and gritted his teeth. "I will resist the effects of that anti-toxin, of that drug, because it's a drug."

Loveless nodded. "Yes, and a powerful one, believe me. I tested it on a third human guinea pig. I didn't let him die, like the others, I injected him with the anti-toxin to see the results. He survived, but after the first injection of anti-toxin, he was intoxicated. The craving period was so intense that he was ready to agree to kill his wife and children to have a new injection of 'liquid bliss". Moving closer to the bed on which Artie had curled up on himself, he added, "You're no different from him."

Artemus gave his Nemesis a black, feverish, look and croaked out, "I will resist. I have to… have to. No more drug…"

Loveless nodded. "And then what? You die? Because let me remind you that the poison is still in your body, Mr. Gordon. if I don't inject you with another dose of anti-toxin, you will die, and you don't want to die, do you? You're in a 'no win' situation. You're intelligent enough to realize that."

Feeling nauseous, Artie hiccupped. "I hate you so much…" he said, his voice shaky, uneven. Then, in a flash he jumped on his feet and rushed toward the sink.

He emptied his stomach in it. Loveless crinkled his nose, disgusted, and Burton standing beside his master chuckled mockingly.

Loveless looked up at his bodyguard and manservant, "Let's get him into the craving phase, then we'll come back to see him."

Both smiling, the two men left, and the huge minion locked the metallic door behind him. "You can howl, no one can hear you," he said.

WWW

 _Later_

 _In Loveless's lab_

Pressing the needle against Artemus's neck, Loveless said, "Resistance was futile…" He grinned. "You couldn't resist. No one could."

Eyes reddened and bleary, his teeth chattering and his whole body trembling from head to toe, Artemus croaked out, "Need it, need it. Get me some, please god, get me some, please-please. I'll do what you want. But you have to promise than no one will be hurt in the attack."

Loveless nodded. "I promise. Now let me…"

More than impatient, frantic, Artie gasped. "Now!"

The little man shook his head, his eyes flashing. "Be patient Mr. Gordon! And I don't like to be interrupted when I'm talking. I thought you were a well-mannered man..." He trailed off as he calmed down. "I took the liberty to have your trunks delivered here, to my lab as well as a box containing a few explosive devices of yours. It was easy for my men to enter the Wanderer during Mr. West's absence. It took my men half an hour to pick up your things and go back here with them. You should have thought about an alarm system locking all the doors to prevent any intrusion."

Artie sighed. "I did and I even invented one to tell us when a window is opened. But Jim didn't trigger it before leaving. That's strange." 'So we're in Washington', he thought.

Loveless shook his head. "No, it's not. Your disappearance has affected your partner a lot, ex-partner should I say and he is very disturbed. He simply forgot it. But it was good for my men. You will find all the necessary clothes you need to disguise yourself. I hope that you will come up with something creative." He rubbed his hands with glee. "One million dollars in gold! I love gold! With gold you can buy anything – and anyone. After that, I plan to kidnap the President during his trip to New York in two days – to replace him with a double working for me. As you already know, I'm very good at creating doubles! And my Ulysses S. Grant is ready."

Sinking on a chair, strengthless Artie shook his head. "I won't help you. I refuse to help you do that to President Grant!"

Loveless frowned angrily. "Then you will die!" He threw the still anti-toxin-filled syringe on the floor where it broke and stomped his foot on it. "No anti-toxin for you, Mr. Gordon!" He snapped his fingers and two henchmen framed him. "Bring Mr. Gordon to his room and tie him to his bed."

Standing Artemus raised a weak fist. "Don't do that!" he took a step forward, menacing the two hulking thugs and swayed on his legs, his vision graying at the edges. He squeezed his eyes shut, suppressing a gasp and crashed to his knees. "I won't let you do that to the President…" He breathed before sprawling face down on the parquet floor of the lab.

Loveless eyes went cold. "Oh, you will. Believe me."

WWW

 _In Artie's room,_

 _later_

Dr. Loveless entered Artie's small room half-an hour later, 30 minutes before the poison running in the other man's veins would kill him.

He grimaced at the acrid smell floating in the stale air. Sweat and vomit.

He was delighted to find his tear-streaked prisoner writhing on his sweat soaked bedding, his ankles and wrists roped to the bedposts, raw-scraped and bleeding. There were patches of vomit and bile everywhere around him and even on the floor.

He grinned as Artemus Gordon howled in unbearable pain at the top of his lungs, his whole body shaken with tremors, each muscle tensing impossibly under its onslaught.

Still grinning, the little man pulled up a chair from the left wall and moved it next to the agent's bedside. He took his place on it, and said, "You'll do anything I ask, give me anything I want. Anything." Looking down at his watch, he added, "You should feel the last effects of the poison soon, Mr. Gordon, as your time is short. Muscular paralysis and subsequent suffocation and cardiac arrest… Unless, of course, you agree participation in next project. Your choice."

Shaking his head Artemus hoarsely said, "No, no, no… "

Loveless stood. "Alright. Then you will suffer some more – and die in agony." He headed toward the door, paused and turned around. "Last chance…"

Glancing up at Loveless, eyes red and puffy, tears running down his cheeks, his trembling fingers digging into the sheets, Artie parted his split and cracked lips and whispered, "Alright… you win, I'll do it,"

He started to muse: he didn't want to die. Loveless was now persuaded that he had him in his power, at his mercy. That he was his puppet.

It was now time to use that to his advantage in order to fulfil his mission. He had to find a way to warn Jim of what Loveless planned to do, then he would try to escape Loveless's hideout, to tell the authorities then where Loveless and his men were hiding.

His mission would be accomplished. Loveless and his men would end up in prison, and after a trial, end up in the gallows.

It was a deadly stunt, because if he didn't succeed, Loveless would be so furious, so enraged, that he would let him die.

But he would die knowing that President Grant would be safe.

He ended his musing as he watched Loveless move the syringe filled with anti-toxin toward the crook of his elbow and he passed out.

WWW

 _In the evening_

 _on the Wanderer_

Thunder crackled in the distance when Colonel Richmond knocked at the door and entered the parlor car right after, his brow furrowed, lost in his thoughts, troubled.

He folded his wet umbrella and placed it in a bucket to the right side, sitting on the carpeted floor, where it joined another one, dry.

Looking at Jim sitting at the dining table, eating an omelet with potatoes and onions accompanied by pickled gherkins, surrounded by the three cats eating pieces of raw fish on a plate each, he said, "Good morning, Jim." Then he folded his dripping coat over the back of a chair.

Frowning in concern, Jim asked, "What is it Colonel? It must be very important for you to come here through the rainstorm. You seem preoccupied… " And he paled. "Oh no! You have bad news about Artemus? You found him, he's dead," he said, his voice was tight and shaky.

The Head of the Secret Service took his place in the chair and facing his agent, he added, "Fortunately, no." He sighed and said, "A convoy transporting gold to the Treasury Department was attacked on its way to Washington two hours ago. Fortunately no one was injured. The soldiers are fine but the gold bars are gone." He took a place at the table and accepted a cup of coffee. "Thank you. They fell into a clever trap. They stopped to help a woman who had just come out of the road with her carriage… and while they were busy putting the carriage back on the road, bandits attacked them… and neutralized them with knock out gas." He pulled out a small silver sphere from his jacket pocket. "Using devices like this one. It's a smoke bomb. This one is still intact, probably because it's defective. It didn't explode but the others did."

Frowning Jim took the small device its pin intact in Richmond's palm and observed it closely. "It looks a lot like one of Artemus's smoke bombs…"

Richmond nodded. "It is one of his smoke bombs. I had it analyzed for fingerprints by the science department, and the ones on this device match the fingerprints in Artemus's Treasury Department file."

Frowning, Jim said, "It's not defective, Colonel. All of Artie's gadgets work perfectly because our lives depend on them. People came here when I was absent and took Artie's trunks and stole a box of different explosives devices."

Richmond frowned, "Loveless's henchmen."

Looking at his CO Jim nodded. "Yes. No doubt. Are you suggesting that Artie participated in that attack? One of Loveless's men could have used it, not necessarily Artie, Colonel."

Richmond took a sip of coffee and continued. "Artemus participated in that attack, Jim, I'm sure of it because he was that woman! I mean that he was impersonating that woman – a woman called _Artemis McGordon_. She or he gave that name to the escort officer."

Pouring himself a cup of coffee Jim nodded. "Then, there's no doubt. It's him. Artemis McGordon is one of Artie's pseudonyms when he chooses to disguise himself as a woman. Then he left that intact smoke bomb in place to tell us he's still alive." He grinned. "That's wonderful!... So he has agreed to work for Loveless. Did he leave something for us? So we could locate him?"

Richmond fished something else from his pocket: a handkerchief monogrammed AG. "No, but he left this in the carriage. There is nothing written on it, even using invisible ink. The people from the science department examined it and didn't find anything. Maybe he simply lost it, but I brought it to you anyway, in case you have an idea…"

Jim took the handkerchief and observed it with attention. "That's a good idea, Sir." Then he took a magnifying glass from the drawer of the sideboard and put it close to the handkerchief. He noticed a series of minuscule holes in the white lace surrounding the fabric apparently made with a needle: lone puncture points and couples of puncture points. He smiled. "It's a message from Artie, in Morse code… That's very clever." He stood, moved toward a green gas lamp and added, "Loveless had to search him before letting him go 'on a mission' but he did not see that. It's almost invisible."

Richmond was impressed. "But you immediately saw it."

Still smiling Jim nodded. "It's because Artemus has already used this way to convey a message that I knew where to find it, Colonel," he replied. "So… one puncture point for a dot and two puncture points for a dash, let's translated this," he said.

Colonel Richmond joined Jim beside the bracket green lamp of the parlor car, squinted his eyes and saw the dots and dashes he hadn't noticed before. "What does he say?"

Lifting the handkerchief closer to the bright light, Jim read, "Lss UH – unable to loc – but in W - ll try to escp – bt prbly die - Lss plans attack PDT – enroute to NY - protect PDT - goodbye – Lv Y Jm." Then he added, "Fll My Fd."

Frowning, lost, Richmond asked, "Can you translate that for me please?"

Blanching Jim lowered the piece of white silk. "Artie says that he was unable to locate Loveless UH for Underground Hideout; but it's in W, for Washington. He adds that he'll try to escape, but that he'll probably die doing it." He paused, his voice almost shaking with anxiety. "He says that Loveless plans to attack the PDT for President, while he's enroute to NY for New York, and he asks me us to protect the President… And… Lv Y Jm is for Love you Jim and Fll My Fd stands for Farewell My Friend."

Colonel Richmond nodded. "We'll find a way to help Artemus Jim, and remember that he's undestructible. Now I have to leave for the White House."

Before the older man could head toward the door, Jim said, "I have a way to find Artie, Colonel – and save him at the same time. I have to locate Mo. I had a 'revelation' just a few minutes ago. I wanted to send you a telegram but I received yours before I can do it, telling me you were coming here. I was so desperate about Artie's fate that I completely missed it. It was so obvious! When Loveless's men kidnapped Artie they kidnapped his Cheyenne horse too. Such a horse doesn't go unnoticed in Washington. And Mo's a beautiful horse, one of Loveless's men probably kept him for himself instead of getting rid of him by selling him."

Richmond nodded. "And Mo is going to lead you to that man, and that man will tell you where Loveless is, and then…"

Smiling, Jim finished his CO's sentence, "We'll find Artie."

The Colonel smiled too. "That's a brilliant idea, Jim. I hope you're right about Mo. I'm going to give you all the agents I have here to help you to search for Artemus's horse, and I'm going to contact the police too so they stand ready to arrest Loveless and his men. I'll be there too, with Dr. Henderson and his black bag, in case someone's hurt."

A flash of lightning lit up the room with a loud bang.

WWW

 _Loveless's underground hideout_

 _Much later_

Laid on his bed, (with fresh clean bedding), with his back propped on a pillow, the ropes gone, his wrists and ankles disinfected and bandaged, Artemus was reading the article on the President's soon-to-be voyage to New York when the first tremor hit his left hand.

He muttered a curse under his breath. He would soon crave the anti-toxin. "It's time to escape, old boy. Or try to." He folded the Washington Herald, left his bed and moved toward the door.

It wasn't locked anymore as Loveless thought he had him in his power, thanks to the anti-toxin. And because of that 'drug's 'influence' he wouldn't do anything silly like escaping. Escaping meant no anti-toxin, and then death. But it was a big mistake.

Dying didn't frighten him. It was part of his job. He had his mind made up about death, got himself accustomed to the idea that one day he would certainly die brutally on a mission.

He had only one goal in mind. Only one thing mattered, getting rid of Miguelito Loveless, he thought as he took the passage that had been carved into the gray rock, decorated with colored drapes, taking the direction of Loveless's lab.

He found the diminutive man there, sitting on a pile of gold bars, beaming. "Ah! Mr. Gordon! I forgot to tell you thank you, for all this."

His face neutral, Artie said, "There's no need. I was forced to do that."

Dr. Loveless scowled. "Spoilsport!" He let himself down to the floor and then glanced at his golden pocket watch. "You're right on time for your injection Mr. Gordon." He put it back in the pocket of his waistcoat and snapped his fingers.

Burton standing beside his boss fetched one already anti-toxin-filled syringe from the long table covered with a complete chemical lab and gave it to Loveless.

Sitting on a chair, Artemus pulled his shirt sleeve up, exposing the crook of his right arm. He felt sweat beading across his hairline and palms. "Do it! Hurry! I can already feel my body weakening… "

Loveless halted in front of Artemus. "Here's another dose of liquid bliss to avoid death Mr. Gordon." He pointed at a glass bottle filled with a red liquid. There was a black notebook beside it. "I prepared a new bottle of anti-toxin – because I intend to keep you at my side for a long time. I wrote the formula in that black notebook, along with others, like drug and poison formulas… I'll show you it later, as I know that you're a skilled chemist."

Suddenly Artemus grabbed his Nemesis's wrist and forced his hand down, and plunged the needle toward the little man's leg. Miguelito Loveless gasped in both surprise and pain when Artie pierced his skin and injected the anti-toxin in his thigh.

He saw Burton draw his gun but before the giant could fire, he ran toward the big table and leaped over hit to take shelter behind it.

He quickly overturned everything there (except the bottle of anti-toxin and Loveless's notebook)… Bunsen burners included.

Dodging bullets flying everywhere around him, he managed to take the bottle of anti-toxin and Loveless's notebook which he slid inside his shirt.

He could survive with them! – 'but first you have to leave this place alive!' he thought.

flames had in the meantime ignited certain chemicals and flames were now wrapped around the table as others were spreading to the carpet and to the drapes.

Soon the whole room was on fire.

Using that fire and the billowing smoke to leave the burning lab, Artemus tried to escape slaloming between the huge flames but Burton spotted him and he pulled the trigger.

Hit in his side, Artie yelped and crashed to the floor, pressing a trembling hand on his bleeding wound, grimacing at the throbbing, tearing pain.

Then the hulking man took Loveless - who was starting to hallucinate - in his arms before heading toward the door.

WWW

 _Washington D. C._

 _Martin Street livery stable_

Hand resting on the wet handle of his Colt, Jim ran toward the livery stable through the dense sheets of cold, pelting rain which had turned the street into a muddy river. He had spotted Mo there, tied in a stall a few hours before after a discreet reconnaissance.

He had sent a telegram to Colonel Richmond and the head of the Secret Service had immediately sent a telegram back telling him that 20 policemen and 10 agents were on their way to his location to help him find Loveless, and Artie.

Richmond had added that Dr. Henderson and he would be there too as soon as possible.

Jim entered the place knowing that it would be empty as the two men who were previously posted in front of the large door, seated in chairs, rifles on their laps had gone to the saloon for a break. And no one had replaced them at their post.

While hiding behind a pile of crates, he had heard the tallest of the two men say, "I'm frozen, need a whisky, but if Doctor Loveless hears about this, he'll have Burton kill us in a wink."

He had smiled then. Loveless was here – and therefore Artie!

The shortest minion had replied that he was more interested in Molly, the saloon girl warming him up, than in whisky. Then they had left, chuckling lewdly.

Mo recognized Jim when the human entered his stall. He raised his head, nickered and then rubbed his muzzle in the man's dripping dark brown hair, ruffling it.

Smiling, Jim patted the black and white gelding's neck. "I'm happy to see you too, Mo. Where's Artie? The last time he was in danger after those Indians shot him, you led me to him. Where is he?"

Mo snorted and stamped a hoof. Then he scraped the ground with it and neighed.

Suddenly the pinto horse let out some kind of snort that Jim recognized immediately. The horse was scared and he knew why when he noticed plumes of smoke coming out from between the slats of the floor, which was almost completely covered with hay and straw.

He removed the hay and straw there and, in front of Mo's stall, he discovered a trapdoor through which the smoke was escaping. "You're a very intelligent horse, Mo." He said, impressed.

Mo raised his tail signaling that way that he was happy.

He had found the secret entrance to Loveless's underground hideout – which was probably burning. It was all he knew.

He untied Mo and led him into the street. Once there the intelligent pinto horse settled under the roof of a large shelter containing firewood, to protect itself from the rain.

He repeated the action with the six quarter horses in the livery stable which joined Mo, pressing against each other, head to tail.

Then he gestured to the agents and policemen hidden there, in the saloon, in the barber shop, in dark alleys, etc. to follow him.

Soon the livery stable was crowded with soaked wet lawmen. Guns in hands they hid wherever they could and waited in total silence, ready for action.

Shortly after that the trapdoor opened and Burton holding Loveless passed out in his arms appeared amidst a cloud of thick acrid smoke. He was quickly followed by a dozen men coughing and crying – President Grant's double amongst them.

They were immediately surrounded by the agents and the policemen. They dropped their guns and raised their hands – except Burton who had Loveless in his arms.

Colonel Richmond entered the stable framed by Jeremy Pike and Frank Harper on one side and by Dr. Henderson on the other side.

For a couple of seconds they froze in front of the fake Ulysses S. Grant, then Jim explained, "It's not the President, but a double. Loveless's doing."

Richmond nodded. "On behalf of the president of the United States you're all under arrest!" He said. "Loveless, finally!"

Moving toward the giant cradling an unconscious Miguelito Loveless in his arms Jim asked, "Where is Artemus Gordon?"

Burton offered Jim a large cruel smile. "I shot him! He was badly wounded. He's probably burning alive down there… You're too late! Good riddance!"

Fear pooling in his belly, Jim felt his heart seize in his chest and rushed toward the trapdoor… and gasped in (agreeable) surprise when he saw his partner's head appear in front of him. "Artie! You're not dead!"

Grimacing in pain, Artie replied, "No but I'm injured. But I've had worse…" And gratefully let his partner help him to climb the last steps of the spiral staircase.

Frowning in concern, Jim was beside Artemus in an instant and he gently pulled his best friend in his arms, bride-style and followed everyone outside as the livery stable began to burn.

He crossed the street getting Artie soaked within seconds and then knelt down on the boardwalk away from the torrential downpour. He slowly, cautiously maneuvered Artemus onto his back on the disjointed and muddy boards and paled in deep worry at the sight of Artie's shirt, soaked with blood. "Doctor Henderson! Come here!"

Breathing hard Artie said, "That's nothing. The bottle… my shirt… mind it. Anti-toxin… Need an injection… I'm dying… help me…"

Stephen Henderson holding his big black bag crouched beside Artemus and took the bottle filled with a red liquid in his belt. "What's this?"

Closing his eyes, shivering, Artie responded, "It's an anti-toxin. Loveless has poisoned me. This anti-toxin is the only thing that keeps me alive. He used that way to force me to work for him. I need an injection every 6 hours. I need one… now, before it's too late." His breath started to hitch and his pounding heart, hurt.

Richmond nodded. "How many cc?"

Blinking tears from his smoke-reddened eyes Artemus shook his head and coughed. "The whole barrel. Please, hurry…"

Frowning Jim looked at Burton holding a still unconscious Loveless. "We need the antidote. Loveless has it, no doubt."

Shaking his head, now spasming, his temples damp with sweat, Artie whispered, "There's none… Loveless didn't create one. Just an anti-toxin to keep me alive and… dependent. It's a powerful drug, highly addictive from the first injection." He winced. Every movement, even breathing, hurt.

Dr. Henderson filled the barrel of the syringe with the anti-toxin and looked down at Artemus's crook of his right elbow covered with several small puncture wounds.

He administrated the ant-toxin to his patient and almost immediately afterwards a broad smile, languid and slow formed on Artie's pale lips as he started enjoying the wave of pleasure that overtook him. Pain vanished. Everything vanished into the warm fuzziness of the drug. He felt his mind start to drift away and completely relaxed, an ecstatic smile on his lips.

He lifted a hand, his body floating, "All those shiny spiraling colors… whirling rainbows…" He let out, his eyes red rimmed and his pupils dilated. Then his body went completely limp.

The CMO of the Washington Military Hospital pressed two fingers against Artemus's neck for a pulse and felt his heart pound wildly and erratically.

He ripped Artemus shirt open revealing a bullet wound. He gently rolled the other man on his side and sighed in relief as he saw an exit wound. "The bullet went through. I won't have to remove it. But you're losing a lot of blood… You need surgery. "

Shaking, Artie mumbled something incomprehensible.

Smiling reassuringly Jim took his partner's hand in his and pressed it. "You're going to be okay Artie. You did it buddy! You did it. Mission accomplished." He removed his blue bolero jacket and covered Artie's upper body with it. "Loveless and his accomplices are under arrest – and they won't escape this time, believe me." He ran brotherly fingers through the older man's sweaty hair and then added, "But next time that you go on a solo mission, I'll go with you. No discussion. In fact, from now on, I won't let you go somewhere without me! Do that and I will hit you! You understand?"

Blinking, Artie smiled weakly, eyes glassy and drugged to the gills.

WWW

 _Much later in the Washington Military Hospital_

 _At night_

President Ulysses S. Grant sat on a chair beside the bed that Artemus occupied. The other man was stark white. His eyes were shadowed by dark circles and his stubbled cheeks were sunken. He was also so still that he looked like a dead body.

Grant looked up at Dr. Henderson standing next to the door. "How is he Stephen?"

The doctor sighed and settled the bottle of anti-toxin he held on a table. "Not good, Sir."

Pause.

Suddenly a loud, booming noise resonated and there was a flash of light. For less than a second, the white-painted room was brightly illuminated.

In his bed, Artemus woke up, but too tired to open his eyes, he left them closed.

Paling in worry, Grant nodded. "Tell me everything."

Leaning against the wall, Henderson said, "No organ was hit and the bullet wound will heal nicely. I'm not worried about that, but about that poison running in Artemus's veins. I gave Loveless' notebook where the formula of that poison is written – among others - to a friend who's a specialist in poisons, Dr. Hopkins, from the New York General Hospital – and he told me it would take weeks to find an antidote to the poison Loveless has created and administrated to Artemus."

Grant cringed while fishing around in the pockets of his jacket (loaded with two dozen cigars, a day's supply, the same as during the war), taking out a long, thick, cigar and a small pocket knife. "Then tell your friend to start immediately."

Henderson sighed. "It's not that simple, Sir. Even if my friend makes an antidote, Artemus will be dead long before that."

Frowning, puzzled, Ulysses S. Grant said, "But I read in your report that if he took that anti-toxin every six hours, he'd stay alive."

The CMO nodded. "That's what Artemus told me, Sir. But what he didn't know, because Loveless hid that information, is that is anti-toxin is a poison in itself. It is weakening his heart. If Artemus continues to take this anti-toxin, he will die, and if he doesn't take it he will die too. In both cases, he will have a heart attack that will be fatal." He swallowed hard and buried his hands in his white coat pockets, pausing, his expression dark. "He's a condemned man. He's going to die."

Posture hunched, Grant sucked in a sharp breath. He opened the small knife and clipped the end of the cigars off, then he put it back in his pocket. He was nervous. Smoking would help him to relax, he thought. "Tell your friend to find that antidote as soon as possible."

Stephen Henderson shook his head sadly. "He'll find it too late. If Artemus continues to take that anti-toxin, he'll be dead within a week."

The President cringed. "I'm sure that Dr. Loveless know an antidote to that poison, or if not, he's capable of making one, rapidly. He created the poison and the anti-toxin, after all."

Stephen Henderson nodded. "It's possible, yes, Sir. Dr. Loveless is a master in creating all kind of poisons and drugs. But he's not going to help Artemus, because he wants him dead. In addition to that, that drug is lethal. Dr. Loveless wrote that in his book too, that after a few dozen injections, the 'patient' will die from cardiac arrest.

The lightning flashed again, even brighter this time. Deafening thunder followed soon after and torrents of rain pounded down, pelleting the window panes.

The President nodded. He pulled out a box of matches from his breast coat pocket, struck one against the headboard of the bed and lit up his cigar. "Only Dr. Loveless can help Artemus. I'm sure that Colonel Richmond will find a solution to force him to cooperate."

Henderson nodded. "Then he should hurry, Sir. Because Artemus's heart is weakening a little more each time he takes that drug."

President Grant frowned in anger against Loveless, sticking the cigar between his teeth and chewing it. –"Is there anything you can do to help him?"

Dr. Henderson shook his head. "No, Sir. Besides, Dr. Loveless noted in his notebook that the anti-toxin is a highly addictive drug. In the case Artemus receives an injection of the antidote, it won't stop the cravings. He will have to face drug withdrawal… and do that cold turkey, Sir. In his state, with an already weakened heart, it could be fatal."

Grant took a series of short draws then blew the blueish smoke out. "He's not going to die. Artemus survived far worst situations that this one."

Suddenly Artie's eyes fluttered open. He licked his crackled lips and whispered, "It's… alright, everyone dies… but I'd have preferred to a bed… But it's my time."

He was very tired but managed to keep his bleary eyes open taking in his surroundings. He was lying on a bed, in a rather bare private hospital room with white walls, two chairs, a bedside table, curtains on each side of the window, two paintings. It was dimly lit by two wall lights, one placed above the door and one above the headboard.

He sighed. He had ended up there numerous times before.

Feeling uneasy the President lowered his cigar, and with his free hand he took the other man's hand in his, pressing it with affection. "Did you hear what Stephen and I said Artemus?"

Turning his head toward the President, Artie looked up at the man he considered to be like a surrogate father and added, "Yes. As I won't be able to work for the Secret Service anymore, I'd like to resign, for real this time, Sir, and go to my Cheyenne band to spend my last days there, when I'm still capable of doing it."

Ulysses S. Grant shook his head. "No, I don't accept your resignation, Artemus. As long as there is life, there is hope. A soldier fights to the end."

Tears rolling down his cheeks Artie rasped out, "My end is near, Sir. Loveless and his accomplices are behind bars. I don't regret anything. What happened to me was worth it. He won't plot against you anymore, kill people anymore." Gingerly pulling himself into a sitting position, Henderson helping him, Artie winced and said, "Then if I can't resign, can I ask for medical leave? I need some rest, and the life among the Cheyenne is peaceful and restful." He heaved a long sigh. "I'll stay there, enjoying a simple life, waiting to die. Because I will. Soon. Dr. Loveless won't cooperate, Sir. He wants me dead. He didn't kill me when he had me because he wanted my help, but now he's in prison, I'm no longer of any use to him."

President Grant said, "Colonel Henderson will find a way to persuade him to create the antidote. You have to keep up hope, Artemus."

Shaking his head, Artie said, "There's none. I know." An enormous boom of thunder filled the air and the hospital room flashed brightly with lightning, again. He blinked back tears and looking at Grant he added, "I'm going to miss you, Sir. You were a second father to me. Thank you, thank you for everything. It was an honor and a privilege to fight at your side Sir, in the Army and to serve under your direct orders as a special agent of the Secret Service." He saluted, tears rolling down his stubbled cheeks.

President Grant saluted back then he took the other man in his arms and hugged him for long minutes. Then he took a step back. Tears were welling up in his eyes. "It's a farewell, Artemus, not a goodbye. You won't die, I'm sure of it, I know it."

Smiling, Artie said, "Yes, Sir." In order to please Grant, but he knew that he was going to die. But death didn't frighten him.

Ulysses S. Grant nodded, placed his cigar back in his mouth and left the room, wiping away tears with the back of his left hand.

Watching the President leave the room, Artie sniffed and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Then, finally realizing that Jim wasn't at his side, surprised, he glanced at Henderson and asked him, "Where's Jim? I thought he would be here."

Henderson responded, "He's escorting Miguelito Loveless and his accomplices to the high security Federal Prison on the outskirts of Washington. He wanted to be sure he will end up behind bars. He should be back by tonight." Then he patted Artie's shoulder. "Everything is going to be alright." He stood. "I have a dozen of patients to visit, I'll come back afterward. In the meantime, try to rest."

Artie nodded but he had other things in mind. "Yes, Sir."

Dr. Henderson left the room in his turn.

He came back one hour later to see if Artemus needed something… and found the room empty, the bottle of anti-toxin gone and two letters on the bed. One of them was addressed to Mrs. Helena Gordon, Greenhill, Illinois and the other to James T. West.

WWW

Furious. Jim was furious. Artie had left without a single goodbye! He opened the letter addressed to him and read:

 _James,_

 _I don't like goodbyes, so I won't be here anymore when you read this letter. I took the Wanderer to go to the Cheyenne Territory. I have plans to stay there a little before… my ultimate demise. Dr. Henderson probably told you that I'll die – either poisoned by Loveless's toxin, or by his anti-toxin. It's not my intention to die that way. I will kill myself. A bullet in my head is preferable to a slow and very painful death._

 _It was a pleasure and an honor to be your best friend, your partner and your surrogate brother, Jim. We will see each other one day – as late as possible I hope._

 _I'll send the Wanderer back to Washington as soon as possible._

 _Be well, James_ _._ _Take care, and keep yourself safe_ _._

 _Artemus._

He growled. "I'm so going to hit him!"

Tbc.


	3. Act Two

**THE NIGHT OF THE RESIGNATION**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT TWO**

 _A week later, in Red Hawk's settlement, Indian Territory_

Dressed in Cheyenne clothes, shirt, breechcloth, leggings and mocassins, his two eagle feathers slid into his headband and a sheathed knife at his side, Artemus Gordon – or White Eagle (Voaxaa'ȯhvo'komaestse) sat crossed legged next to the fire, in front of his blood-brother American Knife (Motšėškevé'ho'é).

He was pale as death, feverish and soaked with sweat and he was shaking with tremors. His heart hurt in his chest and he was panting. "The bottle of anti-toxin is almost empty," he said his voice flat, resigned to his fate. "I'll be dead, poisoned by tomorrow night, unless the anti-toxin kills me before that, of course."

Motšėškevé'ho'é shook his head. "I don't think so. It's not your time. Ma'heo'o, the Wise One Above, the creator of all physical and spiritual life is still protecting you. I already told you. I had a vision of you riding Mo'éhno'ha Ȯhtameōhtsėstse in snowy mountains and Jim riding Blackjack was at your side. You were following a man, pursuing him, actually."

Shaking his head too, Artie continued, "It's impossible Motšėškevé'ho'. It was a dream, not a vision. It won't happen. I'm going to die. Period. You will give my body to Jim. Because he's on his way here. He knows where my last will and testament is and he's my executor."

Pause.

He pulled out the flute he had slid in his beaded belt, looked down at the instrument in his hand and smiled. He had started to play music shortly after his arrival here, after American Knife had offered him the beautifully crafted flute, as a 'healing gift', knowing that he was a very good Indian flute player, telling him that playing music was a good way to manage anxiety, restlessness, fear, and pain - and be happy, he mused.

He ran a fingertip over the smooth cedarwood of his tâhpeno (flute in Cheyenne language), circling the six open finger holes and sighed. "I want Little Sparrow to have my flute, you will teach her how to play," he said and lowered it in front of him, on the blanket spread out on the floor close to the fire.

Tempted to roll his eyes in exasperation, American Knife sighed and said, "Né'áahtovėstse! (Listen to me!)You won't die, nȧ-htatanēme (my brother) not before a long time. How many times do I have to repeat it for you to understand?"

Blinking slowly, Artemus didn't respond. He stared into the flickering flames of the crackling fire, the heat of it mixing with his raging fever. He grimaced and breathed, "Boy! I'm so hot…" and he let his head drop limply onto his chest. "Nákȧhaneotse" (I'm tired).

Moving toward White Eagle, the Medicine Man sat beside his blood-brother, on a mattress of buffalo fur and then placed a hand on Artemus's forehead. "I'm going to give you something to fight fever," then he pressed Artie's shoulder with affection. "You won't die." He affirmed - again.

Holding the flap covering the entrance of the tepee Jim West said, "No, you won't die, Artie. American Knife's right." Then he moved inside the big cone-shaped tent.

Standing on shaky legs Artie looked at the other man, reddened and puffy eyes wide open, stunned. "Jim? Is that really you?"

In two steps Jim was in front of his best friend. "Of course it's me. Do you know another James West? And I'm not a hallucination." He frowned in concern. In just one week Artie had lost a lot of weight. Unlike the Cheyenne who shaved their face, he had let a salt and pepper beard grow and his hair was messy all around the headband holding the two eagle feathers, signaling that he was a brave warrior. He was very pale and his eyes were even more sunken into his head than before.

He suddenly punched the other man square in the jaw, knocking Artie down with the force of the blow, sending him flat on his back to the furs-covered ground of the tepee. "Hiya, Artie!" He said.

Pulling himself into a sitting position Artie rubbed his aching j aw. "What's that for?" he asked glaring at his ex-partner.

Pulling out a folded letter from his jacket pocket Jim opened it and growled, "You left me a letter at the hospital and you left! You left without a single good-bye! After all those years together and that we lived together! I think I deserved more! Don't you ever do that again, do I make myself clear?"

Standing again, on wobbly legs Artie sighed. "Yes. I'm not good with good-byes. I said everything in that letter. I'm sorry if I hurt you, it wasn't my intention."

Eyes flashing, Jim hit Artie again square on his chin and the older man collapsed backward next to the fire, and lay there, sprawled, seeing stars in front of his eyes. "Ow! That hurts!" He let out.

Crouching beside the 'White Cheyenne' Jim waved a stern finger at him and said, "I'm glad to hear that! I told you that I would hit you if you went somewhere without me. I just did it!" He pulled Artie into a sitting position and placed a hand on his partner's shaking shoulder. "I came here as fast as possible – dreading to find you already dead. But you're not!" then he beamed.

Rubbing his aching and stubbled chin, Artemus said, "No, I'm not dead, not yet, but it's only a matter of time." And he saw American Knife shake his head, rolling his eyes.

Smiling, Jim shook his head too. "I have great news Artie! I have an antidote! You're going to live buddy!" Having announced that it he pulled out a box from his inside jacket pocket, opened it and took from inside a syringe already filled with a blue liquid. "Roll your sleeve up!"

Stunned again Artemus blinked twice. "What? How?" Then he complied.

Inserting the needle in a vein, Jim pushed down on the plunger and injected the antidote in the crook of his best friend's elbow already covered with needle marks and almost instantly the antidote ran through his bloodstream, "Two excellent questions, buddy. You're going to feel good in one minute or so."

Rubbing his sensitive skin where Jim had injected the antidote, Artemus asked, "I'd like an explanation, Jim."

The Medicine man smiled. "I told you that you wouldn't die, Voaxaa'ȯhvo'komaestse, I had a vision," He said in Cheyenne language.

Suddenly Artemus let out a gasp, his eyes fluttering shut, feeling fuzzy. He started to slide to the side, and Jim caught him just before he hit the ground.

He maneuvered the other man into a sitting position, again. "I'm sorry buddy; I forgot to tell you that it's very powerful stuff. It's like instant drunkenness but without the following horrid hangover. You should feel like you're drunk for a couple of minutes only and then it will pass."

Closing his eyes because the inside of the tepee was spinning at top speed, Artie, feeling dizzy and lightheaded rasped, "Oh boy… I feel like I drank three bottles of whisky… " He re-opened his now cloudy eyes and paused to hiccup."Y' know, my alcohol tolerance level… pretty high, right?" New hiccup." My ol'nuggin' is full of tap-tapi-tapo-caca," the antidote slurring his words. Blinking blearily, shivering just a little he added, "Instant drunk-druk-drun_neness, uness…" he said, then he started giggling.

Jim chuckled. "You okay Artie?"

Nodding, Artemus replied, "Ooooh, I'm fiiiiine, m'kay. That's v'ry po-potent stuff!" He was swaying back and forth unsteadily and he finally collapsed into Jim's embrace and lightheaded, blinking slowly, he rested his forehead against his best friend's shoulder. "Y'know I Love you, J'm, y're my best friend 'ver, saved my life, not dyin' any-anymore," he added, a goofy smile spreading across his face. "Gonna live, that's great! Nápévomóhtahe!" (I'm feeling good).

Rubbing circles on Artie's back, Jim smiled and said, "I love you too Artie."

Then Artemus slumped on Jim's lap with a fit of uncontrollable giggles, then he went limp and silent, he starred at the smoke of the fire billowing upward toward the opening at the top of the tepee, fascinated.

Catching the medicine man's worried look, Jim huffed in gentle amusement and said to American Knife, "He's going to be alright. It's going to pass, don't worry."

The Cheyenne nodded. "I know."

And it passed.

As if by magic Artemus's fever vanished, his heartbeat slowed down, his breathing returning to normal and his heart stopped hurting him. His tremors disappeared too. "Oh boy! That's miraculous!" He let out in disbelief, as he straightened.

Smiling Jim said, "Not exactly. Dr. Loveless created an antidote formula to his poison after he saw a gallows very close-up. It took him a few hours to make it. Colonel Richmond stayed at Loveless's side the whole time, threatening to resume his hanging if he didn't accelerate – and if it didn't work. Loveless was terrified and he complied."

Surprised, Artie asked, "Was he hanged then?"

Jim shook his head. "No, he needs to have a trial first, like any citizen of this country, _a real one_. He's back in his cell." He sat cross-legged beside a puzzled Artie and explained, "Before leading Loveless to the gallows set up in the yard of the federal prison, Colonel Richmond organized a fake trial there, and of course Loveless was found guilty on many counts, like theft, attempted murder, murder, etc. He was condemned to be hanged there and then. Once on the platform, of the gallows, framed by the executioner holding a blindfold, the priest and the Bible, he told Loveless who already had the noose around his neck, that the President would grant him mercy if he saved you by creating an antidote to his poison and he showed Loveless a fake signed letter from Grant. Mr. Pike could be an excellent forger of official documents. And, of course, Loveless didn't hesitate one second. He was rushed to the Military Hospital where he prepared it. I brought it here as fast as I could, I administered it to you – and you're saved!"

Beaming Artemus pulled James into his arms and hugged him. Jim returned the embrace. "Thank you Jim! You saved my life." He parted from Jim hearing his stomach rumble. " _Náháéána_ , I'm hungry," he said to his Cheyenne brother.

Smiling broadly too, American Knife said, "I'm happy for you, Voaxaa'ȯhvo'komaestse." Then he moved closer to his blood-brother cupped the back of his head pulling him toward him resting his forehead against his and repeated that in Cheyenne language.

Grinning, Artemus hugged American Knife in return.

Chuckling Jim flexed and stood up looking exultant and said, "If you're hungry, it means that you're fine, Artie. What about going back to the Wanderer with me?" He asked, hauling his best friend to his feet. He reached out and brushed Artie's bruised jaw and chin. "I'm sorry, it's going to hurt," then he added, "President Grant would like to see you."

Artie swayed for a few seconds and ended up in his partner's arms. "Always here for me," he said before turning round to face American Knife.

Jim smiled. "Always."

Artemus placed his hands on the Medicine Man's shoulders. " _Néá'eš_ e, thank you. I enjoyed my stay here – every minute of it, when I was still lucid and not sick at least. I'll come back, I promise."

WWW

 _The next morning, on the Wanderer_

 _En route to Washington_

It was late in the morning, close to noon when Artemus entered the parlor car, followed by the mini troupe of the resident cats. His curly hair was damp from his bath and sticking up in odd places. His week-long beard was gone and he was dressed in his navy-blue pajamas and was barefoot. His jaw and chin were colored with red-and-blue bruises.

He yawned widely and slumped down into a chair. "Morning," he said rubbing one shadowed eye. Then he took the coffee pot and poured himself a cup of the dark steamy liquid. He hesitated before taking a sip, observing the molasses-like liquid, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

Marmalade leaped on the table and meowed for some milk. Right after AG and Aztec joined their 'adoptive mom' and meowed too, tails swinging in impatience.

Pouring milk in a saucer, Artie said, "I missed you," then he petted the felines backs as they started lapping the milk.

Smiling playfully, Jim, sitting behind the work table asked, 'Did you miss me too?"

Looking again at what his partner called coffee, the liquid barely moving in his cup so thick it was, Artie nodded in response and replied, "Yes, of course, I didn't miss your coffee though."

Jim chuckled. Then his smile vanished. He was deeply worried about his best friend. Artemus wasn't well. The poison and anti-toxin had eaten away his extra flesh in a short period of time and he had not eaten anything either during his stay with the Cheyenne. He was now drowning in his pajamas. He had started eating, but a little, since he got back on the train because his stomach was very sensitive and he did not want to be sick. The heavy circles under his eyes had darkened since they had left the Indian Territory and his face had now an unhealthy pallor.

But the worse was to come: drug withdrawal. Dr. Henderson had told him it would an excruciating ordeal for Artie, 'like going to hell and back and taking the scenic route'.

It was his exact words.

Artie wasn't dying anymore, but he wasn't out of the woods yet. But once in Washington, Dr. Henderson would take care of him, he thought.

He smiled again. "I know that my coffee will never be as good as yours, but it's not poisoned, I guarantee it. And good morning. Did you sleep well?"

Looking at Jim Artie said, "No. I didn't sleep, at all. I read a book about the history of poisons for a couple of hours and then I worked on a series of new mini bombs in my lab." He paused. "Loveless poisoned me like that you know…" Remembering the scene and he gritted his teeth, upset. "I should have expected this… I should have been more cautious ... I do not know why I was so imprudent. " He paused, stroking Aztec behind its small pointy ears and added, "He offered me a poisoned coffee…" He frowned as he noticed that he was sweating and his hands twitched every so often. "It's too bad I couldn't take Loveless's notebook with me when I headed to the Indian Territory. I could have prepared more anti toxin for myself… I have everything in my lab to make several bottles of it."

He gasped as his hands shook so much that he spilled half of the coffee on the green tablecloth, and a few drops on Aztec's fur - before dropping the almost empty cup on the table, disturbing the cats who leaped to the carpeted floor before starting a collective grooming on the couch.

He suppressed a curse. "The effects of the anti-toxin are wearing off…" he croaked out. Then stomach cramps hit sending ripples of white hot pain throughout his body. "Jim!"

He stood up, his knees buckled and then collapsed. He shakily got to his feet, his head spinning, using a chair for support. "I'm okay," he said, a sheen of sweat on his brow, to a concerned Jim, to reassure him.

Holding Artie's elbow to support his best friend, Jim said, "You need to go back to bed." Then as Artie shook his head, he maneuvered him on the second couch, cats-free.

Artie groaned as irresistible cravings clawed at his mind. "No… no bed. I just need the anti-toxin… got addicted to it… I feel so good, so happy after an injection, you can't imagine what it's like Jim… it's like being in heaven, but alive."

Paling, Jim realized that the withdrawal symptoms were setting in. He cringed, hoping they would appear once they were at the Washington Military hospital, not here. Henderson had planned to progressively wean Artie off the drug. But it looked like Artie was going to face drug withdrawal cold turkey much sooner, as the bottle of anti-toxin was almost empty.

Crying out in pain, Artie suddenly convulsed and curled up on himself, shaking. He grabbed Jim's arm, panting and rasped out, "Please, Jim, I need an injection, now!"

Placing a cushion beneath Artie's head, Jim said, "Okay, but just a little dose. You have to keep enough anti-toxin for the trip to Washington. Once at the hospital…"

Eyes bloodshot and pupils dilated Artie growled, "I want a 'normal' dose, now!" he ordered, with a slightly hysteric edge to his voice. Then as Jim didn't move, his jaw tensing, he said, "I'm going to do it myself." He moved into a sitting position, the room spinning, and angrily pushed Jim backward.

He managed, with a groan, to haul himself up onto his feet. Then, stumbling, he zigzagged toward the door opening to the narrow walkway and leading to the other cars.

But Jim grabbed his arm in a steel-like grip to keep him from storming off. "Let me go!" he yelled. His now reddened face was filled with fury. He punched Jim in the face, hard, propelling his best friend onto the opposite couch, scaring the cats again who took shelter under the work table, before pulling free. "Leave me alone!" Then he bolted with lightning speed for the door and sprinted down the corridor. A couple of seconds later he locked himself in his laboratory.

He prepared the syringe for himself.

He was almost ready to inject himself the usual dose of anti-toxin when Jim smashed the door open and entered the room in his turn.

Eyes wide open in concern, Jim froze as he saw that Artemus had an uncapped and ready-to-inject syringe (the barrel full) caught in his teeth and that with quickened movements he was rolling up the left sleeve of his pajama jacket.

His partner looked terrible, he thought. Artie's face was nearly white and damp with sweat. He was agitated with spasms and he was breathing heavily. "Oh, Artie," he let out, feeling bad for him.

His teeth clenched, Artemus tensed and growled. "Go away! Leave me alone!" he said feeling nauseous, feeling as if he was going to vomit.

Shaking his head, Jim spotted the empty bottle of anti-toxin sitting on the edge of the long work table. "Don't do that, buddy. You need to keep some of it, because we'll reach Washington in only three days. Once there, Dr. Henderson will help you. If you do that, you won't have any of the drug for three days, Artemus, think about it." He moved toward the older man, slowly and Artie moved back in response. "Put that syringe down on the table. I'm going to inject you a dose, I promise, but a small one." He paused as Artie looked around him like a trapped animal trying to find a way to escape. He moved closer. "Okay, keep your calm, don't lose control of yourself. I'm not your enemy." He paused. "I just want to help you."

Tremors wracking his body, so violent they hurt and his breathing erratic, Artie said, "No, you don't! You want to take the anti-toxin away from me! But I'm not going to let you do that!"

Jim was his enemy, he thought. He needed to get rid of Jim if he wanted to be able to have his dose of 'liquid heaven' as Loveless called the anti-toxin, because Jim wouldn't let him.

His hand shaking and twitching with need, he reluctantly placed the syringe on the table then, growling like an angry grizzly bear he pounced on Jim – who pushed him backward, hard.

Hitting the work table, hard, Artemus wasn't quick enough to catch the syringe when it fell to the floor, and with a desperate cry, he watched as it broke on the floor. "Noooooooo! No! No! No! Nooo!" He yelled frantically, watching the dry wood sucking up the liquid in a few seconds. He picked up the broken barrel hoping to find a little of anti-toxin left, but it was empty.

Gone! There was no more antitoxin.

Glaring at Jim, Artie's anger flared and he bared his teeth in a snarl.

He let the piece of broken glass fall at his feet and then he leaped tiger-like on the other man, surprise giving him the upper hand just long enough to bring Jim down. "It's your fault! YOUR FAULT!" he repeated, suddenly hyperventilating.

Straddling Jim's lap, Artemus closed his strong hands around his throat and squeezed like a powerful vise. "Go away! GO AWAY! Leave me alone! Then, he added, low and deadly, "But you won't… there's only one way, I am going to have to kill you."

Catching Artie's wrists in a firm grip, Jim had a sudden flashback and it sent chills down his spine: he remembered Artie doing the exact same thing to him, with the exception of one detail - they were standing up, not lying on the floor - while had been hypnotized by Dr. Arcularis.

His eyes were the same: cold, empty, murderous.

But he didn't want to do the same thing he had done to Artie in that lighthouse, punching him in the face, knocking him out brutally. He always blamed himself for doing so, but he had acted instinctively to protect himself. Now, he had the choice to act more smoothly, he mused.

Pushing Artie backward, It was easy for him to roll the other man on his back and he did just that. He pinned down Artemus, twisting helplessly on the floor, then he pinched the base of Artie's neck. He applied pressure on the carotid sinus - leading to decreased blood supply to the brain and instantaneous unconsciousness. "I'm sorry buddy, but you left me no other choice."

He moved to one knee and hauled Artemus's limp body in his arms. He stood and carried his unconscious partner to the stable car where the rolling cell was to keep prisoners locked up.

Once inside the 'big cage' he gently laid his best friend down on the bunk located against the back-wall. "It's better like that."

He went to the lab to fetch a basin filled with water and he put a cloth in it. Then he came back shortly after and set it on the table, outside the cell.

Taking one end of the pair of handcuffs attached to the metallic headboard of the bunk, he closed it around Artie's right wrist. "You won't go far with this, buddy." He glanced around him to see if there was anything that Artemus could use to pick the lock –because Artemus could pick any kind of lock within seconds, he thought - of both the pair of handcuffs and the door and not finding anything, he was satisfied. "You're stuck here, Artie. I don't like it, and you won't too, but it's for your own good."

He had just said that, when Artemus's eyes fluttered opened and he moaned in pain but he didn't wake completely. He looked completely dazed.

His muscles clenched and locked again with the cramps assaulting him.

His eyes dropped shut a few seconds later.

Jim started running a hand gently through Artie's curled hair with affection. "I'm sorry Artie, the withdrawal is going to be very painful, but it will pass. I can't give you any sedative. Your blood is already filled with traces of the anti-toxin – and you could have a bad reaction and die. I'm not taking any risk. You'll have to get through this ordeal on your own, cold-turkey. I'm sorry."

He took the blanket sitting on the floor, beneath the bunk and covered a shivering Artemus with it up to his shoulders. He nodded and patted his best friend's burning hand. "I'm going to make fresh coffee. You'll need it." Then he closed the barred door behind him.

WWW

 _In the 'rolling cell',_

 _Later_

Gasping for breath, Artemus Gordon woke up to pain searing through him. He was sweating profusely and shivering uncontrollably.

He started to move restlessly on the bunk, his entire body was on fire and everything hurt.

He cried out and tried to curl up on himself, and was surprised to find that his right wrist was restrained with one end of a pair of manacles.

Confused, not understanding what was going on, he whimpered, tugging on it, hard, trying to break free. "No! No! Let me go!' He rasped out.

He turned his head on one side when he heard footsteps and, his vision blurred with tears, through the bars of the cell, he saw Jim coming toward him. "Jim… help me!"

Holding a cup of steaming coffee Jim unlocked the door with his free hand and then entered the cell. "I'm here, Artie."

Sounding like a child, Artemus whimpered, "It hurts. It hurts so much…"

Jim sat on the edge of the bunk his face sad. "I know. You hurt because you're going through withdrawal from that drug cold turkey. It could take a while for that drug to work its way out of your system. In the meantime, I'm going to keep you here and take care of you."

Suddenly Artie sobbed, pulling on the handcuffs, trying to free himself – in vain. "Please. Please. Just one dose, please. I need it." He begged. A red hot bolt of pain flashed through him. He let out a strangled cry and deeply moaned. "Hurts so much… my whole body hurts like hell… need the anti-toxin, it makes me feel so good. No pain, nothing, just ecstasy… I need it!"

Placing the cup of coffee close to Artie's lips Jim said, "It's gone. The last dose vanished when the syringe broke on the floor, you remember?" You can't have anti-toxin anymore, Artemus, it's over."

Artie hissed as anger filled his eyes. Glaring at Jim he tugged on the handcuffs again, to no effect. "I don't want your revolting coffee! I want my anti-toxin! Now! NOW!" His breathing hitched.

Jim shook his head and slowly exhaled. "That's impossible. It's gone."

But Artemus didn't register the information in his relentless craving. "Please, just one injection. Please, please, please, I beg you," he whined, his chocolate eyes brimming with tears, wincing as every single muscle was aching with pain.

But Jim remained inflexible. "No."

Seeing that Artie, decided to change tactics to get what he wanted: make Jim feel guilty. "Why are you making me suffer Jim? Why? I thought you were like a brother to me. Brothers help each other. You can help me to feel better. All I need is just a small amount of anti-toxin… Please, I beg you Jim, my brother, please. Just a little, a little." His voice was plaintive.

Narrowing his eyes, Jim knew that Artie had shifted into actor mode. He shook his head. He wasn't going to let himself being tricked. "Well tried, Artie, but this isn't going to work. I'm sorry. I can't."

Eyes darkening, Artie snorted and his face became a mask of rage. "I hate you! I hate you! I haaaate you!" he cried out between ragged breaths.

Jim shook his head. "No you don't, but I'm not taking personally what you say or do in the next few hours or days if it is going to last that long because you are not yourself."

Then, using his left fist, Artemus hit Jim's face, in his right eye. "Go to hell!" he said, before grinning pleased at what he had just done.

Moving back in surprise and pain, Jim dropped the cup of coffee to the floor, where it broke in pieces and the coffee was spilled.

In a flash the younger man closed the other end of the handcuffs around Artie's free wrist. He said, "I thought it wouldn't be necessary, but I was wrong." then he sighed. It wasn't Artie's fault. He was drugged and not responsible for his actions, he thought. "Are you hungry?"

Drenched in cold sweat, his teeth chattering Artie shook his head. "No… not h'gry, I'm cold… 'm so c-cold… 'm sorry… forgive me." Tears streamed down his temples wetting the pillow beneath his head. "I'm sorry… I didn't want to hurt you… I just want an injection of anti-toxin, please Jim… Please help me. I'm in hell." He hiccupped as he cried, his body jerking with each shudder that passed through it. "Please, please…"

Placing the back of his hand on Artie's forehead, Jim realized that despite his chattering teeth and complaining of feeling cold, Artie was consumed by fever. His skin was damp and burning hot to the touch. "No, you'll have to endure it for a few hours or more… I don't know." Feeling bad having to treat Artie like that, but conscious he had no other choice but to do so, he left the cell and retrieved the basin filled with cool water and the soaked cloth he had previously settled on a table. "You'll be better tomorrow."

His teeth chattering, Artie mumbled, "Be dead tomorrow…" Then a spasm of pain passed over his face and he let out a whine.

Sitting on the edge of the bunk again, Jim wrung the dripping cloth and gently swabbed Artie's flushed face covered in a layer of sweat, with it.

Pained to see his partner in that deplorable state, Jim said, "No you won't. You've had worse and you pulled through. You'll survive this. You can survive anything, Artie." He soaked the cloth in the water again and placed it on Artemus's brow and pain-clouded eyes.

Sobbing again Artie struggled vainly, pulling hard at the restraints, thrashing on the bunk, wrenching his whole body from side to side as he tried desperately to free himself. "Release me! I'll do it myself… I just need one dose, and I'll be fine. Let me go." He shut his eyes tight, his stomach clenching and did what he could to curl into himself, new sobs wracking his body.

By the time his sobs trailed off, he was spent and, completely exhausted, Artemus slipped into unconsciousness again.

He finally slept, fitfully.

WWW

 _Later_

Startled, Jim woke up a couple of hours later on hearing a scream. He moved into a sitting position on the bunk he had situated on the other side of the cell and looked at his best friend, sitting on the mattress, shaking and covered in sweat. "You had a nightmare Artie," he said.

But he knew that something was wrong when Artie remained immobile, his eyes riveted to the floor, frowing. He looked confused.

Then the older man reacted.

Curled on himself, in a trembling ball Artemus was staring wide-eyed at the wooden floor, pale as a ghost. "It's moving! It's moving! It can't be! It can't be!" he repeated.

Shaking his head, Jim explained calmly, "No, the floor is okay, it's not moving. You're having hallucinations Artie. Close your eyes and they will go."

But Artemus didn't. He didn't even hear Jim. Hallucinating, he watched the floor-boards underneath him moving up and down like wild ocean waves, creaking and screeching loudly. His heart beating fast in his chest with fear, he mumbled, "The floor, the floor's moving!" then he gasped as he saw the boards starting to spiral, forming a growing whirlpool. "Oh-dear-God…"

He screamed again in fright as a black hole appeared in the middle of the vortex, replacing the floor and he tried to climb the bars of the cell to escape the skeletons hands which had just emerged from it – gripping at the side of the bed, at the mattress, at the sheets, at the blanket – trying to catch him.

His blood ran cold as the loud grunts, groan and roars coming from the 'gate to hell' as he thought it was, filled the air, deafening.

Opening the barred door, Jim said, "Calm down Artie! It's not real!" And he rushed to his best friend's side and pulled him into his arms to soothe him and he rubbed his back gently. "You're having hallucinations. Take it easy, all right? You're safe with me."

But Artemus broke free, his heart racing, tears cascading down his face and pushed Jim back, away from him sitting with his knees to his chest as his partner's face morphed into that of a horrible creature part skeleton, part decaying flesh. There were empty, dark holes were the eyes should be, and dozens of big, fat, worms were crawling out of what was left of his nose and mouth.

Out of breath and scared, Artemus shook his head and pulled against his restraints. Then he froze feeling a sudden surge of guilt and grief crush his chest. "I'm sorry… I'm so sorry… I couldn't help you, save you… You're dead because of me…" He croaked with a raspy, broken voice in-between sobs. "Please don't kill me… don't wanna die." And he let out a pitiful whimper.

He retreated back against the far side of the cell, breath coming short and fast. Dizzy, nauseous, he suddenly doubled over and dry-heaved.

Placing a hand on Artemus's arm Jim felt Artie stiffening under his touch and squirm. "I'm not going to hurt you, Artie. You're hallucinating…" He said as his partner lost control of his breathing.

Once again Artie pushed Jim back, away from him. "Nooooo!"

Not-dead Jim closed his rotting cadaver's hands around his neck and let out a low growl while the skeletons hands closed around his limbs. "No! No! Don't take me!" and he hissed a shaking breath.

He felt an incredible pressure against his throat, crushing his air pipe and he started to choke. He let out a strangled cry of pure terror when he felt the skeleton hands pulling him toward them, toward the dark void that had replaced the floor. Panic overwhelming him he began hyperventilating. He couldn't breathe. He started to get light headed.

Screaming again, he grasped the blanket and wrapped it around his shaking body, and hid beneath it, like a scared child, whimpering. His breaths were ragged.

Moving back toward Artemus, Jim said, "I'm not dead, Artie, I'm alive. Whatever you're seeing, it's not real…" He sat on the edge of the bunk again and he added, "Shhh, it's going to be okay. You're safe Artie, I'm going to protect you".

Suddenly, Artie's form went limp, as he passed out. Jim slowly removed the blanket and pressed two fingers against his partner's throat. His pulse was wild but strong.

He gently uncurled Artemus's sweat-soaked body, maneuvering his slack form onto his back and then untangled the blanket.

He placed it back on his best friend's frame, up to his shoulders. "It's over, Artie," he told the unconscious man and he sighed sadly. The hallucinations were gone, but not the effects of the drug, he thought.

WWW

 _Much later_

It was dawn when Artie's eyes cracked open, both dry and gritty. His head was pounding, his skin was icy and damp and he was shaking with cold – and want. 'Still in withdrawal', he thought. He rubbed his eyes clearing his sleep-fogged vision – and stared at the top of the cell, and through the bar at the curved top of the stable car. "And still prisoner," he added. He turned his head to the side and saw Jim sleeping uncomfortably in a chair at his bedside.

He shifted, rolling to the side and moaned. His whole body hurt, as if he had been beaten badly. "Hurts… Oh boy!" he let out with a raspy voice.

Instantly Jim opened his eyes and looked down at his partner. Artie was very pale, huge black circles under his slightly glazed eyes. "How do you feel?"

Smiling weakly Artemus said, "A little better, but not much. I feel drained and sick, and dirty. It's like having the flu… after being ran over twice by the Wanderer and the craving is still there…dulled, but still there. Oh! I hate that!" He licked his parched lips to wet them and frowned intrigued, noticing Jim's black eye. "You're hurt. Who did that to you?"

Jim chuckled. "You did. You have a nice straight left Artie."

He saw the older man flush with utter embarrassment, his look sad and pained and heard him mumbling 'I don't remember anything… I'm so sorry, so very sorry,' and tears started to fall onto his best friend's gaunt cheeks. "I forgot it already, don't bother." He cringed. His usually emotional partner, thanks to the drug withdrawal was on edge. He pulled Artie into a tight hug, stroking his back softly. "It's okay, it's okay. Now, we're even. I punched you twice in American Knife's tepee, remember? Besides, it's not your fault, Artie' he soothed. "Don't put this on yourself. It was the drug's action, forcing you to do that, not you. In fact, blame Loveless for what happened. He's the one behind all this." He parted from the older man and smiled again. "I'm glad you feel a bit better. It will pass, be patient."

Still ashamed, Artie nodded. "I will. Thank you very much Jim," he whispered through tears, "for everything. I'd be dead without you."

Jim chuckled again. "It was a pleasure."

Running a hand through his wild curls, Artie said, "I had a nightmare… the floor had disappeared to be replaced by a dark hole, a large whirlwind… skeletons coming from it hands tried to pull me into it… And you were there, at my side… half skeleton, half-decaying flesh… You were dead, but not, and you tried to kill me." He touched his neck and shivered. "I still can feel your cold fingers on my throat…"

Jim nodded. "Actually you had a nightmare followed by hallucinations, Artie. I know now what they were. It sounds horrible."

Glancing at the handcuffs, Artie said, "Yes it was." He yanked at his manacles. "I feel like I'm a prisoner here. Could you remove the handcuffs please? I promise to be a model patient."

Crossing his arms on his chest, sternly, Jim replied, "I'm sorry, but it's a no. Not yet, not until you're okay. I don't want you to collapse of weakness and hurt your head or a limb, and I don't want you to try to knock me out – whatever way." Artie pouted. "It won't work. You're going to stay on that bunk till I decide that you are drug-free."

Pulling himself into a sitting position Artemus leaned against the bars of the 'big cage' and was instantly hit with a wave of vertigo as the room spun. "I should have stayed lying on my back," he said, his face tinged with green. His stomach twisted. "I'm gonna…"

Immediately Jim reached for the bucket beneath the bunk (he had guessed that Artie would vomit) and placed it on Artie's lap just in time. He retched and vomited into it, his whole body shaking.

Once Artemus's stomach was empty – bile included, Jim took the bucket and put it on the ground. Then he helped his best friend, pale, breathless and tear-streaked, to lie back on the bunk. "I'm going to get rid of the vomit then I'll be back with a pot of coffee and a cup."

Closing his tired eyes Artie whispered, "Thank you." A spasm of pain passed over his face and he gritted his teeth. "Ow! Stomach cramps. It hurts…"

Standing and taking the bucket with him Jim said, "You're one of the strongest people I know, Artie, you can endure it for a few hours more."

He suddenly propped himself on his elbows, realizing something that horrified him. "My mother! Oh my god! No!" he said as his voice rose a couple of octaves. "I wrote her a letter! Oh my God! She beleives that I'm dead!" He closed his eyes fighting back new tears. "Oh, mom…"

Jim smiled reassuringly. "The President didn't send her your letter. He wanted to give it to her in person, but he didn't after Loveless gave me the antidote," he told Artie softly. "Try to get some more sleep Artie. You'll feel better soon."

Opening his eyes, Artemus smiled in immense relief and sniffled. "Oh thank god!" Immense fatigue overwhelming him and he rolled to his side, and whispered, "Love you Jim." The words were barely audible.

Patting Artie's leg Jim smiled. "I love you too buddy." He pulled the blanket pooled at the end of the bed up to his partner's chest, tucking it around him. "Sleep well."

WWW

 _The next morning_

 _In the bathroom_

His cheeks flushed slightly with a light fever, his head aching, naked, grimy and smelly, Artemus stepped into the clawfoot slipper tub.

He sat down and let out a moan of pleasure as the warm, orange-scented and foamy water reached his chest. He leaned against the raised and sloped end of the new, big tub (replacing the old wooden tub) made from cast iron and lined with enamel.

He settled in a comfortable lounging position, letting the water relax his strained muscles, his arms resting on the edge of the tub, bubbles tickling his chin, his eyes closed.

Then, after a moment, he took the natural sponge floating on the surface of the bubbly water and observed his flat stomach and bony legs for a few seconds. That poisoned drug had nourished him for almost two weeks – replacing real food and he had lost weight, he mused.

He smiled and said to himself, "Don't worry, you'll gain some weight soon, old boy, eating your own rich cuisine. Let's start with a nice copious breakfast after your bath – prepared by you of course, not by Jim, who can't boil an egg."

He sank lower in the bubbles, the regular movements of the Wanderer creating a slight roll on the surface of the water.

Comfortably stretched out in the bathtub, Artemus grabbed the washcloth floating on the surface of the deliciously hot water and took the lemon-scented soap bar sitting on the edge of the tub and began washing his sore body, slowly, taking his time.

He had soaped himself up when a knock at the door made him jump. "What?"

Opening the door Jim poked his head inside. "May I come in buddy?"

Smiling, Artie nodded. "Sure. My bathroom is your bathroom." Then he abandoned the washcloth and bar of soap in the tub and asked, "Can you give me the bottle of shampoo, Jim?"

Smiling too Jim entered and took the bottle of shampoo from a shelf before giving it to his partner. Then he pulled up a stool and sat beside the bathtub. "How are you feeling Artie?" he asked, his brow furrowed in worry.

Pouring a dab of grapefruit-scented shampoo onto his left hand, Artemus responded, "I feel exhausted still but better. I just have a slight fever and a light headache, that's all. It's nothing compared to what I went through. And I'm glad to be free – I mean free of the drug and free of the handcuffs too."

Plunging his hand into the water, Jim retrieved the enameled pitcher which was submerged at the bottom of the tub, and said, "I'm glad you're out of the woods buddy and I'm sorry about the handcuffs, but I had no other choice but to restrain you. You weren't yourself and you were dangerous. I was keeping you safe that way – and me safe too. Now close your eyes." He paused for Artie to do so and poured the steaming water on his partner's head and continued, "I sent a telegram to Washington telling the Colonel that you were okay. He was very happy to know that and the President too. By the way, President Grant gave you a personal commendation for Loveless's capture."

Grinning at that wonderful news, Artemus started massaging shampoo through the greasy, tangled locks of his hair working it into a lather.

Still looking up at Jim, holding the pitcher he said, "I'm perfectly capable of washing my hair myself, you know. I'm not a baby and I'm not strength-less anymore."

Jim put the pitcher under the foamy water, waiting for it to be filled again and said, "Really? Hold this!" Artie took the pitcher… only to drop it a couple of seconds later – too weak to even hold it and he muttered a curse. "You're as weak as a newborn kitten, it's a miracle you reached the bathtub without my help. The simple act of washing your hair is going to exhaust you, so let me help you, okay?"

Smiling, Artie nodded. "Okay," he said letting his chin drop to his chest. He lowered his hands to his knees and let his companion rinse his hair.

Pressing a smear of shampoo on Artie's head, Jim said, "You're going to spend the next few days in your bed or on the couch." And he smiled as the older man let out a low groan of pleasure, closed his eyes and gave himself up to the relaxing sensation, as he buried his fingers in his partner's hair, working orange-colored shampoo into the wet curls again. "That good, huh?"

His eyes still closed, Artie hummed in response and his whole body went slack.

Still smiling, Jim poured soapy and bubbly water over his best friend's hair, rinsing away the froth of shampoo and he said, "There, all done."

Keeping his eyes closed, Artemus sank under the water to rinse off. Once he was clean from head to toe and smelling citrus-good, he stepped out of the bathtub, onto the bathmat and swayed a little on unsteady legs, feeling heavenly relaxed.

But the pains didn't stay dulled by the warmth of the bath.

He rolled his shoulders and arched his back into his hand, wincing as his spine cracked. "Boy! I feel like I'm 100. My whole body is aching, even my hair."

His hair still dripping he let Jim towel dry his body and finally dress him in his robe. He gave Jim a weary smile and said, "Thank you Jim."

Jim smiled. "You're welcome, you would have done the same thing for me – now you need a solid breakfast – and you know what? I prepared it."

Rubbing a bloodshot eye, Artemus chuckled. "You? You cooked? No, no, no. I don't want to be poisoned again, I'll pass thank you very much." They both heard a stomach rumble. He giggled. "Alright, I'll eat it, but it is only because I'm really hungry."

WWW

 _Later_

Burnt pancakes piled in front of him on a plate Artie was sipping his (very bad) coffee when the telegraph key suddenly came to life.

Marmalade lying on her side on the couch opened a slit eye; disturbed by repetitive clatter. She closed it right after, falling back asleep while the other cats, AG and Aztec wound up into a ball of fur and continued to sleep on the armchair, coiled against each other.

Sitting at the work table, Jim acknowledged the reception of the message and a few seconds later they both heard a new message sent in Morse code.

Grabbing a pen and a piece of paper, Jim translated it as the message progressed, and then, when it was over, he acknowledged the successful reception of it.

He read what had been written to Artie who had already translated in his mind a large part of the message: "From Colonel Richmond urgent – rendezvous at the Denver police station ASAP - take Kirk Garrett to custody on board the Wanderer – bring him to Washington for trial – be careful – he's extremely dangerous – killed dozens of innocent people - copy of your present assignment sent to Denver Police Department's captain – he's waiting for you - Godspeed – Colonel J. Richmond."

Looking at his partner who was licking a dab of blueberry jam from his thumb he asked Artie, "Kirk Garrett… That name sounds familiar… Do you know who he is Artie?"

Spreading butter on a slice of toast, Artie responded, "Yes, of course. He's a professional assassin working for the Denver syndicate run by Alex Peabody, or rather he was, because he's out of work now. He effectively killed dozens of innocent people, including Brigadier-General Archibald Morris, who was a friend of the President since the Mexican war. And he tried to kill us the last time we met in Denver. Remember, we were in a saloon enjoying a nice beer after putting aforementioned Peabody and his men behind bars, when a bomb rolled toward our feet. If you hadn't had the reflexes to throw it under the staircase, we would both have been vaporized. Luckily you have very good reflexes."

Jim nodded. "I remember now, yes. He's a tall man with long blond hair, built like a mountain. He was finally captured, good news."

Spreading strawberry jam on his toast, Artie nodded. "Yes. Another enemy behind bars. There remains a good hundred deadly men still to arrest."

Smiling, Jim nodded. "We have plenty of time to. We aren't close to being retired." He joined Artie at the table and poured himself a cup of coffee. "Something tells me that it won't be a peaceful assignment."

Artie scowled. "Saying that, you have just jinxed us, Jim."

Tbc.


	4. Act Three

**THE NIGHT OF THE RESIGNATION**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT THREE**

 _Denver, Colorado,_

 _At night_

Feeling nauseous Artie leaned heavily against the wall of the police station as a wave of dizziness passed over him and he took a deep calming breath.

He was shaking and had goosebumps. "Jim, I'm hav-ving a c-craving," he said in a low voice to his partner standing next to him." Beads of sweat glistened on his creased forehead.

Placing a hand on Artie's shoulder, frowning in concern, Jim said, his voice low and quiet, "It's going to be okay. Take deep breaths, just calm down. Do you want to go back to the Wanderer? I can escort Garrett alone to the train."

Shaking his head Artie straightened and looked at his trembling hands. "No, it will pass." He took a deep breath in and slowly released it, twice. "It's not the first one and it won't be the last one. I feel better – but I'm not fine, not yet. But I will, with time." And he buried his still trembling hands in the pockets of his thick wooly coat. He smiled weakly. "Let's go inside. We have a new mission. It's going to help me forget that whole anti-toxin story, and that drug too."

Smiling Jim patted his partner's arm in a friendly way. "You will be okay." He opened the large door and entered the visitors area, Artie following him.

He approached the counter behind which a sergeant and two police officers were standing and said, "My name is James West, and this is my partner, Artemus Gordon. We are Special agents of the Secret Service." He pulled out his identification card from the inside jacket pocket and showed it to the men. "We're here to take Kirk Garrett with us. We received orders from our Commanding Officer to bring him to Washington. Your Captain has received them too."

The sergeant nodded. "My name is Chandler Hawking, Sirs. We were expecting you. Captain Jenkins asked me to replace him, he's investigating a robbery in the Museum of Art with his senior officers that happened during a diner with the Mayor and the Governor, in the reception room. He asked me to transmit his sincere apologies to you." He took a release form from a drawer, folded it in two parts and slid it in the pocket of his uniform jacket. "Please follow me, gentlemen." He headed toward a barred backdoor.

Once in a long corridor Hawking led the two agents to the detention area. There were four armed policemen here, two at each end. All the cells were occupied by two or three people who were chatting, reading, playing cards and even singing.

One of the men behind bars moved forward and said, "Hey! Hawks! Who are those guys? Look like Marshalls to me. Am I right?"

Another man grabbed the bars of his cell and said, "Nah, I think they're Federals…"

Hearing that, other prisoners started throwing peelings and stalks of apples and even whole pieces of fruit at Jim and Artie as they passed in front of them.

Insults resounded.

Catching a flying red apple, Artie said, "Thanks! I'm gonna keep it for my horse." Then he slid it into the left-hand pocket of his thick winter coat.

Hawkins stopped dead in his tracks, glared at the prisoners and then said, "Very well! If you throw away the food you are given, it is because you are not hungry. In that case you won't have anything to eat until after tomorrow night."

Protests erupted, and he just ignored them. The three men turned to the left and entered a new corridor. Here the cells on each side were empty.

Sergeant Hawking said, "We keep only the dangerous prisoners here. All the cells are empty for now, except for one. The last one. We put Garrett here because he wanted to be alone, and he almost killed his co-inmates by pummeling them to a bloody mess, so as to be the only one in his cell." He paused and added, "Garrett! Come forward, you have visitors!" and a bulky, blond man dressed in a prisoners white and black striped uniform approached the bars of his cell.

Garrett smiled broadly seeing James West and Artemus Gordon move toward him. "Well, well, well! James West and Artemus Gordon, the best special agents in the whole country!" He bowed with mocking respect. "I'm deeply honored, and I'm proud too, only the greatest criminals have that honor, I heard." He chuckled. "The last time we met I almost killed you both. That bomb should have vaporized you, but you threw it under the staircase, and you survived."

Making a falsely sad face, Artemus placed his hand on his heart and said, "It was the staircase which was vaporized. Poor staircase, such a sad end. May it rest in peace… of wood." Then, amused by his own play on words, he grinned.

Garrett wasn't amused. "I forgot you were such a wit, Gordon. That's hilarious."

Looking at Garrett, coldly, Jim said, "Then you should thank my reflexes, without them you wouldn't have the honor and pride to be escorted to Washington by the two best secret agents in the US." Un-holstering his .45 Colt, he added, "Open the door, please, Sergeant."

Hawking complied and Artemus pulled out the handcuffs he had slid in his right-hand coat pocket. "Turn around, and put your hands behind your back!"

Once Kirk Garrett had complied and was outside the cell, Artie immediately locked the handcuffs around the assassin's wrists.

The police sergeant filled out the release form and Jim signed it. Then he smiled broadly, happy to get rid of the prisoner. "He's all yours, gentlemen."

WWW

 _In the street_

Kirk Garrett moved toward the horse that the two agents had rented for him at the livery stable and glanced at Mo'éhno'ha Ȯhtameōhtsėstse tied next to his gray spotted mare, in front of the hardware shop. "New horse Gordon? Hmm…it's a beautiful pinto!"

He ran a hand over the Cheyenne horse's neck and Mo who didn't let anyone touch him, except Jim and his master huffed and pushed the other man backward with his muzzle, hard.

Garrett cursed.

Smiling, Artie said, "Saddle up!" Then he rubbed Mo's chin groove with affection before offering him the apple, he devoured it within seconds. "That's a good boy!"

Looking around him, as if he was looking for someone, the assassin smiled too. "Okay… but not on that horse, but on mine."

Noticing that, Jim felt his sixth sense bells ring frantically in his head.

Suddenly a series of gunshots resounded coming from the hotel opposite. Bullets started raining all around Jim and Artemus.

A bullet whizzed by, missing Jim's head by an inch and one of them grazed Artie's left temple. A stabbing pain instantly shot through his head. His right hand flew to his aching temple and he sank to his knees on the wooden boardwalk, seeing stars in front of his eyes.

Seizing the occasion, Garrett crossed the street at top speed, running toward his accomplices and one of them used a lock pick to get rid of his handcuffs, freeing his hands.

In the meantime, the others were still shooting at the agents, each hidden behind two tanks filled with water for the horses, making holes in them.

Garrett jumped on his horse waiting for him a little farther away, in front of the post office, ready for his escape, the saddle bags filled with money, warm clothes, food, bullets and dynamite, and a full canteen.

Shooting a mocking gaze to Jim and Artie who had now taken cover behind bags of flour and rice piled in front of the hardware store next to the police station, he kicked the sides of his horse and galloped away down the deserted street.

People had run into the shops to shelter from stray bullets.

Seeing that, their job was done Garrett's men ran in all directions, escaping in their turn, disappearing in the dark, narrow alleys.

Ignoring them, Jim rushed to his best friend's side. He maneuvered Artie into a sitting position and cupped his pale face. "Artie! You alright?'

The older man touched his aching and bloodied temple and winced. "Ya, I'm fine. It's just a graze. It won't even leave a scar. Garrett's not that far, we should catch him up soon enough. Let's go!"

Sergeant Hawking surrounded by a dozen armed policemen stopped beside the two agents and noticed Artie's injury. "Doctor Fowley's office is located on Main Street," he said." Then he ran toward the other side of the street, following his men there.

Standing Artemus shook his head. "I don't need to see a doctor, it's just a graze! That's nothing." Then he mounted his horse. "Let's go!"

But he didn't stay in the saddle very long. He lost consciousness on the outskirts of the town and came to only several minutes later.

He refused to go back to Denver to see Doctor Fowley and they continued the pursuit, but Garrett had gone ahead.

WWW

 _Pikes Peak, Colorado, two days later_

 _Close to Gray's Peak_

Suffering a new drug craving, Artemus didn't react when Garrett pulled out a couple of sticks of dynamite from his right saddlebag.

He was dizzy and nauseous and his whole body was trembling and aching with the intense desire to float away from the world toward absolute heaven, again.

Confusion blurred his mind as he was blinking slowly. The thought of taking the anti-toxin made him breathe heavily.

Haggard-looking he let the assassin light up the explosives. He didn't hear Jim, riding behind him cry out 'Artie! He's got dynamite! Fall back!'

Too late.

Mo reared when the stick of dynamite exploded close to him – provoking a geyser of snow and ice and Artemus fell back to the ground, on his side, sinking into the fresh snow and he yelped. The loud booms echoed in the high mountains.

His face in the snow, Artemus brutally regained his senses. He propped himself on one elbow and rubbed a shaking hand over his face, brushing the ice flakes off his eyes.

Moving onto his knees, he pulled out his gun – just to see the famous assassin go away on his horse, toward a steep slope, galloping throughout the tall fir trees growing there, big icicles hanging from their snow-laden branches.

His head throbbing in pain, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead, Artemus let out a series of strong curses through his chattering teeth.

He was mad at himself for being so weak and hit the crusty snow with an angered fist. Those cravings put Jim and him in danger. They could have died! He thought.

Mounting BlackJack Jim joined his partner. "You okay Artie?" he asked, looking worried, as the older man brushed the snow off himself with one gloved hand.

Picking up his hat lying at his feet, Artemus replied first with a growl. "I will be," he said." Then he started rubbing his neck as he sighed looking angry.

Jim nodded, understanding that his partner had just had another drug craving. "It's not your fault Artie, it doesn't help to get angry, relax buddy. You didn't take that drug willingly. Loveless poisoned you. You're not responsible for those cravings. You have to continue to stay strong. They will pass, eventually."

Artie nodded too. "I know, but when? I'm losing patience… Because of them, I put you and me in danger. I could have stopped Garrett with a well-aimed bullet if that craving hadn't 'paralyzed' me… and now he's gone, damn it!" He pointed in front of him and then added, "Go after him Jim, I'll join you shortly. Don't let him escape again. He already escaped from us a first time in Denver – and a second time at Mont Evans, he won't escape a third time!"

Feeling a pang of worry for Artie, Jim nodded. "Not lagging buddy!" He hit the flanks of his black and shiny stallion and reluctantly re-engaged in the pursuit.

Pulling himself upward Artie scrambled to his feet and suddenly let out a yelp – followed by a loud groan as his right ankle was hurting and throbbing. He could barely land his feet on the frozen, crunchy ground. "I sprained my ankle, that's just great!"

He gingerly moved toward his pinto horse wincing and yelping with each step. He had placed his aching right foot in the stirrup – wondering if he would be able to saddle up, when he heard a loud crack and then an even louder rumble. He immediately looked up, eyes wide open in dread. "Oh no!" He let out as he watched helplessly as a avalanche rumbled down, coming right in his direction. The explosions had started it.

The roar was deafening.

The wall of snow and ice taking out every tree in its way would be upon him in a matter of seconds. He reacted immediately: he hit the horse's rump, hard. "Go find Jim!" he said. Mo'éhno'ha Ȯhtameōhtsėstse hesitated a couple of seconds looking at his master with worried black eyes. "Go! Go to Jim! He'll save me. Go! Mo! Go! Go! Go!"

The black and white gelding complied, galloping away at top speed barely avoiding being snatched away in the tide of snow and ice.

Panicking, Artemus looked around and found that he was trapped, there was no place to go, he was going to be buried alive.

Spotting a large boulder, he had just enough time to rush there and roll into a ball against the large boulder, hoping that it would shelter him enough from the onslaught and save his life. And, within seconds, the huge avalanche crashed into where he was huddled, swallowed everything. Him included.

Blackness enveloped him as the crushing weight of the snow pressed against his whole body, and cold sunk into his bones.

Pain exploded in his left ribs and right ankle.

Encased in layers of thick snow ice and rocks, he lost consciousness.

WWW

Hearing a loud crash and rumbling, Jim turned around while still pursuing the assassin and saw an avalanche roll down the narrow pass where Artemus had fallen from his horse a few minutes before. He realized with a sick lurch of his stomach that Artie had been caught in it.

He blanched as he saw Mo'éhno'ha Ȯhtameōhtsėstse galloping toward him – rider-less, shaking his head and whining in distress. "Oh God, Artie!"

He swung his horse and grabbing Mo's reins, fear gripping his heart, he galloped in the direction of the big avalanche which had stopped, but plumes of snow still rose here and there.

Once in the pass he dismounted and looked around him: everything was a wild mass of snow, ice, dislodged boulders and uprooted trees.

He climbed on the top of the heavy and dense layer of rough-packed snow which was covered with chunks of ice and glanced around him. There was no sign of Artemus anywhere. "Artie!" he cried out at the top of his lungs in case his best friend could hear him and somehow signal his presence. But there was no movement and the only answer was his own echo.

He felt his stomach sink but refused to think that Artemus was dead.

His partner was indestructible.

He took a few steps forward and stumbled through the knee-deep snow. "Artie!" He continued, sinking even more deeply in the snow. Nothing.

He climbed on a broken tree trunk and surveyed the chaos left behind by the avalanche. "Artiiiiie!". He paled even more when he realized that the avalanche had gone straight down into a deep ravine and stopped its devastating course there. "Oh, no, no!" he let out, thinking that Artemus could be there, buried, encased in a tomb made of tons of snow, ice, rocks and broken trees in the middle of the mountains.

He searched for any trace of his best friend for long, interminable minutes, wandering randomly on the tail of the avalanche, calling his partner's name, louder.

But Artie didn't respond to his calls.

Feeling desperate, tears rolling down his cheeks, Jim had lost hope of finding Artemus when he suddenly heard a muffled sound he didn't recognize at first, followed by others, five he counted.

Gunshots. He thought.

He climbed on large chunks of ice to have a better view of the stilled avalanche, grinning with exhilarating joy. Artie was still alive! And had emptied his gun barrel to signal that. Then, he spotted thin puffs of red smoke coming from his left, from a tight passage in the snow.

He grinned as relief flooded through him. "Artie!" he rushed there and started digging away at the snow above his best friend with his bare hands, mini clouds of warmer air escaping from his mouth as his breath accelerated with excitement. "I'm here buddy! I'm here!"

Five minutes later, frozen and aching, he finally discovered the smoke bomb, still releasing its red smoke, he threw it away and then he cleared his partner's upper body from the accumulated snow.

The other man had his gun in one hand and he was rolled in a ball against a large boulder. He was motionless in the snow, his eyes closed, his lips blue.

He paled in dread, thinking he hadn't been quick enough to dig the snow off his partner. "Artie! non, no, no." He bit his lip and gently cupped Artemus's waxy-looking face, finding it cold to the touch and then took his pulse. It was slow and erratic but the other man was breathing. "Oh thank God…" He breathed, relieved again. Beaming, he gently tapped his partner's stubbled cheeks. "Eh buddy, wake up!"

But Artie didn't and Jim hurried to remove a maximum of snow and ice covering the rest of his partner's body, in order to extricate him from the avalanche.

Once he had pulled Artie out, he maneuvered him to the side of the big hole he had just made. "Artie?" then he gently slapped his face. "Artie!"

Artemus opened his eyes blinking snow out of them and squinted at the light shining on his face. "Mwha?" he croaked. He coughed before taking rapid lungful's of cold air burning his lungs, gulping for the oxygen like a fish out of water. "Jim? That you?" he rasped. He gingerly uncurled himself and let out a yelp as his battered body was aching all over. He touched his ribs, on his left side and winced. "Ow! I think a r-rib or two r-ribs are br-bro-broken, J-Jim. A r-rock or a piece of ice probably hit me here…" He stammered from cold. He was freezing and his right leg was pounding. His face felt numb and his fingers, toes, and ears were numb too. "Mo's okay?" He asked.

Nodding Jim replied, "Don't worry, he's fine." He took Artemus's Colt, monogrammed AG on the handle and re-holstered it. "Good idea you had here Artie, to create a passage in the snow with your bullets to let the smoke of a smoke bomb reach the surface to signal where you were buried."

Smiling proudly, Artie said, "Yes it was. I always have good ideas, especially when I am in mortal danger and I used snow to obstruct the base of that passage so that I wasn't intoxicated by the smoke. Then I passed out from the pain… And I was very lucky to have had a little air pocket around my face to breathe in thanks to that boulder… " He paused his breath hitching from pain. "Otherwise I'd be dead from asphyxia by now. Thanks for digging me out."

Smiling broadly, Jim leaned, his forehead against Artie's, his breath coming in harsh little pants and mini clouds of steam. "I thought I had lost you…"

Shaking his head, Artie watched Jim with heavy-lidded, tired eyes and he rasped out, "It takes more than an avalanche to kill me…"

Grinning, Jim took Artie in his arms and hugged him, very happy to be able to do it, and rubbed the other man's limbs to warm him up.

Then, after a moment he asked, "Anything else broken?"

Feeling a bit warmer, Artie gritted his teeth as he moved his right leg. He suddenly yelped, biting back tears as ripples of intense white-hot-pain emanating from his injured ankle moved upward to his knee. "Yes, right ankle. Hurts a lot, Jim. It hurt before I was thrown out of my horse after the explosion, but not as strong as now… I was hit there too it would seem."

Jim nodded, "I need to get you out of all this snow." He placed one of Artie's arms around his neck, then slowly pulled him upright. "Hold onto me. I've got you buddy. You okay?"

His teeth clattering Artemus let out, "Y-yes, m'kay," he replied, unable to support his own weight, trembling with cold and delayed fright.

Because Artemus couldn't stand on his own – he was unable to walk or put any weight on his injured ankle - Jim

simply picked him up, bride-style and grunted with the effort. Artie wasn't a lightweight.

He carried him to the edge of the avalanche waste field where the horses were calmly waiting next to a group of snow powered boulders.

He helped Artie to mount his Cheyenne horseand then mounted Blackjack. "It's almost sunset, let's find shelter for the night."

Gritting his teeth, Artie let out, "Garrett is gone," his breath misting in front of his face in small clouds.

Looking around him at the still avalanche , Jim nodded. "We'll find him. Let's move!" he said as he looked at the mountain and at the sky above. The deep blue sky was progressively filling with thick gray clouds. Wind whistled among the still intact trees and the temperature had dropped a few degrees.

A snowstorm was approaching.

WWW

 _Much later_

It was dusk when Jim spotted the mouth of a cave, through the blizzard, in the face of a cliff among the iced moaning and creaking trees. It seemed large and deep enough for them to stay there for the night with their horses.

He dismounted his black stallion and moved toward Artemus. Like him he had his hat pressed down over his head as far as his eyes and had raised the fur collar of his coat. His shoulders were covered with snow and his ears and nose were frozen.

He grabbed Mo's reins and holding Blackjack's he led the horses and Artemus toward the cave walking through thigh-high snow.

Shortly after that a snow tempest and the stars-less night enveloped everything. The temperature dropped significantly to below-freezing point.

Once inside, Jim assisted Artie to dismount his painted horse, and, then helped him to walk inside away from the icy wind which was breezing in through the cave opening carrying swirling snow with it.

He sat him on a flat rock. "Stay here," he said.

Not smiling because his lips were cracked and hurt, but the intention was here, Artie said, "Don't w-worry, n-not g-going anywhere. I couldn't if I wanted to."

Jim pulled out his gun and explored the place with caution, ready to fire on a bear or on wolves, but after a couple of minutes he came back to Artie. "We're alone here."

Relieved Artemus said, "T-thank G-god! I'm t-tired of b-being attack-ked and-and almost k-killed by b-bears or w-wolves – or bo-both. And y-you t-too." Then he clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from clacking together while rubbing his gloved hands.

Jim led the horses a little farther to the rear part of the cave. He un-saddled them, but let the saddle blankets in place to keep them warm.

He took the two bedrolls and Artie's saddlebags with him.

Having unrolled Artie's bedroll on the icy ground at the foot of big rock, Jim slowly lowered his partner onto it and said, "Don't move your bad leg, okay?"

Blinking tiredly Artie nodded. "'Kay," he whispered, removing his snow-covered hat.

In a matter of minutes, Jim dropped the saddles next to Artie and gathered an armful of dried branches and twigs at the bottom of the cave.

Sitting on his bedroll, his back leant against the rock, the older man watched his best friend start a fire with a match, lighting up a bunch of dead branches and twigs he had found at the back of the cave. "Someone brought them there… " He said, before taking tiny, short and painful breaths. He paused and then added, "It's not the first time people found refuge here."

Smiling Jim nodded. "I can see why, it's very cozy," he said, trying to relax his tensed partner. "You and I are going to stay here and wait until the storm calms down. Then we'll go back to Denver. We can't continue to search for Garrett with you in that state…"

Shaking his head, Artie said, "I will go back to Denver alone, you will find Garrett. We can't let him escape, the President will be furious if we do that!"

Shaking his head in his turn, Jim replied, "Garrett's not important, you are. President Grant will understand why we chose not to pursue Garrett. And in your state Artie, you'll need my help to be able to reach Denver. You can't even walk!" He furrowed his brow in worry as he noticed Artie's hazy eyes, his gaze unfocused and lost. "Do you have another craving?"

Crossing his arms over his chest, the older man nodded. His heart pounding loudly behind his ribs and he had a painful headache. "Y-yes." He was shaking too from cold - and from want.

He wanted to go back to his 'lost heaven'. But he was strong enough now to resist the temptation – besides, there was no anti-toxin here.

But he couldn't help but think about it… and the pure pleasure.

Feeling Jim shaking his shoulder, hard, he blinked twice, coming down to Earth and rasped, "I'm okay. It's going to pass." And he forced a smile.

Once the fire was big enough to dimly light the place, the dry wood crackling and popping, Jim removed Artemus's gun belt, which he placed on top of the flat rock and after that helped him to take off his soggy and icy clothes, his coat, his gloves, his jacket and his shirt, then he wrapped his half-naked, bruises-covered and shivering partner in Mo's warm saddle blanket.

Smiling gratefully, Artie let out, "Thank you, J-Jim. G-g-good idea," accompanied by a puff of mist and then he wrapped his arms around himself as he shivered. "Brrrrr! It's cold!"

Finally Jim placed Artie's dripping clothes flat onto the ground, near the crackling fire, so that they could dry and said, "You're welcome buddy and it's going to be warmer soon."

He unrolled his own bedroll and eased down on it. Then he crouched beside his partner and slowly, very slowly, and gently, very gently, removed the other's man boot.

Flinching, Artie shifted and hissed.

Placing his hand on Artie's knee, to calm him down, Jim said, 'Don't move, Artie, please," Then he removed the sock so he could see the extent of the injury. He examined the swollen and badly bruised ankle and said, "It's not a sprain, but a fracture. There's a huge swelling from your foot…" He touched Artie's skin and frowned in worry as it was like ice. The calf was a mass of deep, colorful bruises, and he could feel the other man go rigid beneath his probing fingers, trying to squirm away from the pain and releasing pained grunts. "To your knee and there's significant bruising too. There's no bleeding, so it's just 'a simple fracture', not a compound one. I think your tibia broke because there's a deformity there. It's badly misaligned, I mean displaced. I'm going to have to put everything back in place and then make a splint to protect your ankle to keep the bones in the correct position."

Pale, sweating, feeling dizzy and nauseous, Artemus nodded, black spots in his vision. All he could feel was sharp pain. "'Kay. Think… m' gonna… pass out," he whimpered.

He closed his eyes, his head lolling on his bare chest and he slid sideways, unconscious.

In a flash Jim shook Artie's shoulder, but didn't get any response. "Artie?" he pressed two fingers against his throat. Artie's pulse was wild.

Immediately Mo'éhno'ha Ȯhtameōhtsėstse moved toward his master and nuzzled Artemus's face with concern and let out a whine meaning: "I'm worried."

Smiling Jim patted the horse's neck reassuringly. "He's okay – don't worry Mo. I'm going to take care of him. Go back to Blackjack."

The gelding nodded and headed toward the black stallion. The two horses moved close to each other to keep themselves warm.

Seizing the occasion of his partner passing out, Jim maneuvered Artie onto his back, then he put Artemus's broken ankle on his lap.

He started to manipulate it in order to put everything back into place to avoid potential problems with the nerves and blood supply to the foot.

He had already done that twice to comrades during the war after they had fallen from their horses too, he mused, and his face became grim.

Sadly Captains Harry Perkins and Sal Lowell had been killed in Gettysburg.

Chasing away bad memories, he skillfully re-aligned the displaced bones hearing cracks that made him cringe and looked down at Artie who, even passed out was moaning, shaken with tiny spasms and was sweating profusely too. "I'm sorry buddy."

He searched for the first aid kit Artie kept in his saddle bags, but he didn't find it. Then, thinking that Artie could have accidentally switched saddlebags in the Wanderer before leaving the train, and put it in his own, he searched his own one but he did not find it there either.

He returned to Artemus and using his knife, he cut Artie's sock in pieces and using thick straight branches he made a makeshift splint around the tender ankle. Then he removed his coat, rolled it in a ball and gently placed it under his best friend's injured leg, elevating it.

But, unfortunately, he couldn't do anything for the broken ribs, he thought. He stood and headed toward his black horse.

He patted Blackjack's neck and pulled the saddle blanket off his steaming back. Then he returned to kneel beside his passed out best friend.

He removed his hat which he placed on top of a rock a few seconds later and wrapped himself in the warm saddle blanket, relieved that the cave was beginning to slowly warm up.

Eyes riveted on Artie's face which had turned pink instead of the frozen white, he started poking at the campfire with a branch, embers popping up every so often.

Then he stared at the dancing flames, remembering the recent events, lost in his thoughts, all the while the storm continued to rage.

He was drifting off to sleep when the howls of wolves startled him awake. He glanced at the mouth of the cave, his hand reaching for his Colt.

He waited for five minutes, expecting the wolves to enter the cave, sheltering themselves from the raging blizzard outside, but no animal appeared and he relaxed – just a bit.

He grabbed Artie's gun and loaded it with a new set of bullets – in case his best friend needed it – against wild animals then put the monogramed (AG) revolver back in its holster.

He reached out and stroked Artemus's stubbled cheek with his thumb, finding it warmer than before when he had touched the other man's skin.

Regaining consciousness Artie opened his eyes, slowly, a haze of pain overtaking his features. He yelped and then grunted as stabbing agony hit. "Owwwwww boy!" then he noticed Jim's doing. "Thanks," he said tears rolling on his cheeks, between two harsh breaths.

Moving to the side, Jim fished out the flask of whiskey that Artie kept in his saddlebag – for 'medicinal' purposes only – and kneeling beside Artie, he said, "You're welcome again, Artemus. Try not to move more than a minimum, okay. I did what I could with your ankle, but I don't have anything to immobilize your ribs. You forgot to pack a first aid kit, I could have used it."

Cringing Artie sighed. "I know that. I added new items to it, my two latest inventions the adhesive bandage and spray disinfectant, and forgot to put it back in my saddle bags. It's still on my work table, in my lab aboard the Wanderer."

He placed the flat, metallic, bottle of liquor in his best friend's hand and added, "I don't have any painkiller, except whiskey. Drink the whole bottle if you need to, okay?"

Nodding Artie uncapped the flask and took a couple of swallows. "Thank you Jim… hurts like hell, but you did a great job." He lifted the flask of whiskey and smiled. "I'm not going to get drunk with that you know, it takes two bottles – I mean two real bottles – to just get me tipsy. The last time I drank so much was when I was disguised as Bluebeard the trapper…" He smiled. "It's just going to warm me up."

Placing his own bedroll on the icy ground, next to his saddle, Jim moved his hands toward the fire to warm up his numb, cold fingers. "I'm sorry Artie, but there's no saloon in the vicinity – in fact, there isn't anything outside, except the mountain, lot of snow and icy cold. We're stuck here till the end of the snow storm, then we'll find a way to go back to Denver bypassing the avalanche. You need to get to a hospital as soon as possible to have your broken ankle treated correctly. It takes about 6 to 12 weeks for a broken ankle to heal, but you should be able to leave the hospital after a couple of days. You can spend your convalescence on the Wanderer working on a whole bunch of new projects."

Smiling, Artie nodded. He rubbed a hand over his face, yawning loudly. "You know I was thinking about a water repellent fabric for…" And he stopped mid-sentence. A silhouette had just appeared at the entrance of the cave, covered with snow from head to toe… and it was holding a gun. "Garrett!"

In a flash Jim immediately stood and un-holstered his own gun.

But he wasn't quick enough. Kirk Garrett fired first and smiled broadly when he saw the Secret Service agent collapsing with a strangled cry to the icy ground, with a bullet in his right leg, in his thigh – his gun sliding to one side, on the slippery ground.

Blue-lipped and shivering, the assassin moved toward Jim, quickly picked up the agent's .45, and then pointed his Colt at Artemus who had dropped his flask to grab his revolver. "Drop it! Or I shoot your friend, again, but in his head this time!" He ordered, pointing Jim's own gun at him.

Lowering his gun to the rocky ground, Artemus said, "Don't shoot!" Then he slowly raised his hands above his head. He looked then at his best friend lying on the icy ground, grimacing, blinking away tears of agony, with his right hand placed on his bleeding wound. "Jim?"

Gritting his teeth against the searing pain, Jim let out, "I'm okay." Then moaned.

Garrett rapidly got rid of all the snow covering his whole body and moved toward the fire. "I thought that I would die from exposure outside, in the snowstorm, when I saw the glow of a fire… that fire." He sat there, on Jim's bedroll and glanced at his bleeding shoulder. "I was attacked by a group of Indians who came out from nowhere about 10 miles from here… they wanted to kill me. I didn't know there were Indians near here! I was shot but I managed to remove the arrow from my back." He pulled out the rear part of the arrow from the pocket of his coat and said, "I kept a piece of it as a souvenir." He showed it to the other men. "Nice, isn't it?"

Lifting his eyebrows with surprise Artie said, "I recognize the fletching. I didn't know that Southern Arapahos still lived here, I thought they lived all in the Indian Territory sharing the same land with the Cheyenne. Maybe some of them decided to hide here… in their ancestral lands. Arapahos call the mountain here _Heey-otoyoo_ meaning "Long Mountain"… And they are famous for their skill shooting arrows…"

Garrett frowned. "Arapahos? You know them?"

Moping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand Artie shook his head. "No, I don't. But when living with the Cheyenne, I heard a lot of things about them and I speak a few words of their language. American Knife taught them to me. They're neighbors of the Cheyenne in the Indian Territory where they share the same reservation. The Cheyenne call them Hitanwo'iv which means 'People of the Sky' and the Arapahos call themselves _hinóno'éí_ , which means 'people of our own kind'… but I had never met Arapahos warriors… until now." Then he pointed at the cave opening.

In a flash Kirk Garrett stood, still holding his gun and pointed it at the three Indian warriors coming toward him, but he wasn't rapid enough.

Three arrows hit him at the same time and he collapsed backward. Dead.

The Arapahos headed toward Artie first and one of them, his face red-painted left the others to move toward Mo and stoked the gelding's white rump with a possessive hand.

The warriors wore buffalo-hide robes to keep warm on top of breechcloth and leggings, and they had moccasins. Their two long braids were wrapped in fur and had feathers tied to locks of their hair. Their faces were painted with bright colors. They were holding bows, had a fringed quiver hanging on their backs and sheaths holding knives attached to their beaded belts.

Mo immediately flattened his ears and showed his teeth in a threatening way, hitting the ground with his hooves, huffing.

Red-painted face smiled. "You will be mine!" He said in English.

But Mo shook his head and neighed.

The warrior moved toward Artemus while the other Arapahos framed Jim, pointing an arrow at each of them. He lowered his bow and arrow and touched his chest with his fist, "My name is Woxhoox Nookeih, it means White Horse. _Hiinono'eininoo!_ I am Araphaho, and you're going to die _nih'oo3oo!_ (white man!) No one is allowed to know that Arapahos live here. We don't want to be forced to go back to the reservation where the others are herded like animals!"

Glancing at Garrett's body, Artie nodded. "That's why you killed him."

The Arapaho nodded. "And you will die too."

Feeling rivulets of sweat streaming down his flushed face as his fever increased, Artemus lifted his right hand in a gesture of peace and said in Arapaho language. " _Ne'éé_!" (Wait!). Then he continued in English. "No! Don't kill us! We were pursuing the man you killed, and we will leave as soon as the snow storm is over. I promise that we won't tell anyone about you being here."

Woxhoox Nookeih shook his head. "White men are all liars. I will kill you and take your painted horse… He's beautiful. He's a warrior's horse."

Straightening Artie lifted his chin and looked at the Arapaho warrior, right in his eyes, warrior-to-warrior and said, in a baritone voice, mixing English language and Cheyenne language, "Of course he is, Mo'éhno'ha Ȯhtameōhtsėstseis my horse… " And added the Arapaho word for horse, _wóxhoox_ and touched his bare chest covered with goosebumps. "I am Voaxaa'ȯhvo'komaestse, White Eagle. I'm a Cheyenne, I am _hitesii_! and I am a warrior. My blood-bother is Motšėškevé'ho'é, American Knife, Medicine Man of Ma'evoto, Red Tailfeather. He paused and added, "If you want that horse, you'll have to kill me, but not like the man you just killed, but in a duel, following the tradition and I'll choose the weapon. But before we do that, let me recall for you that the Cheyenne and the Arapahos are close friends and are allies."

Red-painted face frowned. "You're lying, _nih'oo3oo_ (white man). I don't know any white Cheyenne called White Eagle!" He pulled out a knife from his belt.

Artie glared at the Arapaho warrior. "I am Voaxaa'ȯhvo'komaestse, White Eagle. I demand to see your Chief. I'll prove to him who I am."

Woxhoox Nookeih looked at his companions each pointing an arrow at Jim and hesitated. They nodded. Looking at Artie again he said, "I'll lead you to our Chief, and if you can't prove that you're a Cheyenne, I will kill you and have your horse." pointing at Jim with his knife lying on the ground in a pool of blood he asked, "Is he a Cheyenne too?"

Artemus nodded. "He doesn't have Cheyenne blood running in his veins, like me, but he's my vésevoo'o, my companion, and he's my néstaxe, my co-warrior too. He's my white blood-brother too and thus he's a Cheyenne by alliance. Where I go, he goes."

Nodding, Woxhoox Nookeih said, "He will come with us then." He turned toward his warriors friends and commanded, "Build a travois. They can't walk or ride."

Pointing at Garrett's body, Artie asked, "What about him?"

Looking too at the cadaver, White Horse replied, "There's a large and deep hole in the ground, not far from here. I will drop his body inside it. No one will find him."

Tbc.


	5. Act Four

**THE NIGHT OF THE RESIGNATION**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT FOUR**

 _The next morning_

It was morning when Mo pulling the travois, stopped in front of the Arapaho Chief's tepee. Immediately Woxhoox Nookeih dismounted and disappeared inside the cone-shaped tent.

He came back shortly after and removed the bedrolls and saddle blankets covering the two white men, both half-asleep.

He gestured to his companions and they took one white man each in their arms before following the red-painted face warrior into the tepee, decorated with spears and hide shields.

Once Jim and Artie had been laid on a nest of buffalo furs, White Horse glanced at the Chief Black Bear (Wo'teenox) and then at all the members of the tribal council sitting around the fire, gathered for the daily council meeting. ( _neneeceeneeneti3i'_ ).

He pointed at Artie and in the Arapaho language said, "This white man pretends to be White Eagle, a Cheyenne warrior. His blood-bother would be American Knife, Medicine Man of Chief Red Tailfeather," he said in Arapaho language. "The other one is his white blood-brother, a Cheyenne by alliance."

Then he repeated it in English for Artie and Jim.

Opening his eyes, Artie whispered, "That's the truth… Chief, I mean _neecee._ " Wincing he managed to pull himself into a sitting position and to be sure of being believed, he repeated what the warrior had said in _bee3sohoet_ , in plains Indian sign language – to the Arapahos's great surprise.

Exhausted and sick Artie moaned moved onto his back, his limbs relaxing. He knew that Jim and he were safe now.

He was a Cheyenne warrior and Cheyenne and the Southern Arapahos were longtime close allies.

As for Jim, he was far too weak to do or say anything.

Black Bear knelt beside Artemus and said in his own language, "The White Cheyenne is telling the truth. No white man can speak with the sign language. It's secret. Only people of the plains know it." He rolled Artie to one side and traced with a crooked fingertip the silhouette of the black Comanche eagle tattooed in his back. "Besides, many moons ago, when we were still living in the reservation, I heard stories about this white man called by the Cheyenne people Voaxaa'ȯhvo'komaestse, or _Nonoocoo'_ _heetesee'eiit_ in our language, when I was visiting my brother Black Spotted Horse in the Arapaho-Cheyenne reservation." He paused and added, "He's easily identifiable. He has Comanche tattoo on his back…" Then he traced the round scars that the Sacred Eagle had left on Artemus's back. "And he was marked by the Sacred Eagle messenger of _Chebbeniathan_." He paused again and continued, "White Eagle is a great Cheyenne warrior and he was rewarded with two eagle feathers for his courage, bravery and strength." He paused. "It is a great honor to have him here, with us, as our God Creator Chebbeniathanprotects him." He turned toward Left Hand (Nowoo3), the old Medicine Man, healer of the tribe and added, "Take good care of them, Nowoo3. He and his brother must stay alive. If they die, it would be a very bad omen on our band."

Left Hand nodded. " _Hee!_ " (Yes).

Before drifting off to sleep, Artie whispered, " _Hohóú_ , thank you."

WWW

 _Later, under Left Hand's tepee_

Nowoo3, the medicine man stripped the two white men naked and then he began to take care of Jim. He was unconscious and feverish and his whole body shaking.

The bleeding had stopped but the wound in his leg was infected. Using a powerful herbal disinfectant, he cleaned the entry wound and the exit wound, and then he stitched them before applying an ointment to accelerate the healing.

He finally wrapped the injured thigh in a clean cloth.

Finally he covered his first 'patient' with a thick blanket.

Haggard, worried, Artie looked at Jim lying on a mattress of buffalo furs through a gray veil. "Jim!" He said, attempting to reach out. But was too weak to, so he just lay there, panting, limbs sore and aching. He rubbed his strained face with a trembling hand and let out, "Oh boy, I hurt everywhere… _beiseneesesiino'oonoo,_ " he translated automatically in Arapaho language.

Left Hand smiled. "Your pronunciation needs to be perfected, but I speak the white man language," he said in English and then he added, "Your brother is going to be alright. I treated his wound and he should be able to walk in a few days. He's now resting comfortably. I knew that you would hurt, because the pain spread through your whole body and you are weakened, so I prepared something for you." Sliding his hand behind Artie's head, he brought a terracotta bowl to the other man's lips. "Drink! It's a powerful potion I have prepared to kill all pains. You will feel very good in a short time, you will see."

In a daze, Artie took a sip and grimaced. "Gaaah! That's awful… " But the Arapaho forced him to drink the whole thing. Still grimacing Artie wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I hope it's effective, because I'm not… I'm not going to… to drink that potion ag… ag… again."

Left Hand nodded. "It's a very powerful potion and acts very rapidly."

Confused, Artie was unable to say anything or to have any coherent thought. The room started spinning and everything around him was distorted. His limbs feeling heavy, he blinked slowly as his vision blurred and progressively blackened. "Strong… potion… drug…" Shortly after Artemus smiled broadly, pupils dilated, feeling good and totally relaxed. "Feel sooo… good," he whispered.

Once the bowl was empty, Nowoo3 set it aside on the blanket-covered ground and observed Artie's broken ankle covered with dark and ugly bruises.

He undid what Jim had done – with no reaction from the other man, drugged to the gills. Artie was staring at the opening at the top of the tepee. The smoke left that way.

The medicine man manipulated the bruised and swelled foot and ankle, then he took leather thongs and carefully strapped them around the injured limb.

Finally Left Hand spread a thick layer of ointment on a cloth and wrapped it around Artie's leg. "The swelling will disappear in a couple of days. But you won't be able to walk before 6 weeks," he said covering _the White Cheyenne_ with a blanket in his turn.

But Artemus, lost in happiness – in bliss, no in ecstasy – didn't hear a single word. Nothing mattered. Nothing existed but the pulsating globes of bright colors floating and whirling in front of his eyes… and he tried to catch them. "Shiny…" he let out.

Left Hand threw a handful of sacred herbs in the fire, the smoke facilitating the connection with the spirit world, then he started chanting a healing song.

WWW

 _Later, at night_

Left Hand, the medicine man gave Jim a bowl of the potion as he was wincing in pain and said, "Dink it and you won't feel any pain."

Frowning Jim pushed the bowl toward the Indian. "It's a drug, no thank you." Then, he looked at his partner sprawled on a buffalo fur beside him, an ecstatic smile on his lips, his eyes wide open, the pupils dilated… trying to catch invisible things floating above him. "What?..." He paled in concern. "You gave him that drug of yours. You drugged him!"

The old Arapaho nodded. "I gave him a harmless potion. It makes pain disappear and, at the same time, open up the mind, allowing immobile travel."

Paling even more with dread now Jim asked, "You mean dreams? Then he glanced back at his partner who was now moving his arms like he was flying, rasping, " _Hiinooko3oni_ t" again and again. He frowned and asked, "What's he saying?"

Left Handed nodded, " _Hiinooko3onit_ means golden E agle. He has visions of the power animal which walks through life with him, his animal guide."

Pulling himself into a sitting position Jim grimaced as his injury was burning, and said, "More like hallucinations. No more drugs for Artemus from now on, I mean White Eagle. He has just ended a painful withdrawal from another drug and because of that potion, he could have a relapse. He still has cravings from that anti-toxin from time to time…You have to stop giving him your potion. And if he asks you to give him more potion, don't!"

Puzzled the Indian frowned. "I don't understand what you are talking about, but I won't give him that potion anymore if you don't want me to. You know your brother and what he needs, and I don't." He pulled the blanket up to Jim's shoulders. "The effects should stop within a few hours. He is in no danger. I repeat, this potion is harmless. I give it to the young men for the vision quest." He stood and moved toward the opening of the tepee. He added, "I will come back later. Try to sleep, you need rest," he said. Then he left.

Once the Arapaho was gone, Jim gingerly moved toward his partner and shook his shoulder. "Artie! wake up buddy." But there was no reaction. He cupped his partner's face – soaked in sweat - and turned it in his direction. He gasped in concern seeing the vacant eyes and the pallor of his skin as well as the dark circles around his eyes. "Oh, Artie…" He pulled the other man against him, resting his head on his chest and covered them both with a blanket. "I'm here Artie, I'm going to take care of you."

He eventually dozed off… and when he woke Artie wasn't here anymore. "Artie?"

Feeling fear pool in his stomach he managed to stand and wincing, he limped heavily toward the opening in the tepee and pushed the door flap to one side.

It was snowing heavily outside. Large, wet snowflakes were falling steadily. He winced as the cold bit his face. He immediately spotted the faint footprints that Artemus had left which had almost disappeared under a thickening layer of fresh snow.

He noticed that his best friend had headed toward a group of boulders and a grove of tall fir trees, piled with snow where the horses, huddled against each other to keep each other warm were grouped.

He went back inside the tepee, took a blanket to wrap his naked body with and one for Artie and then left the cone shaped tent.

The snow reaching just past his knees, he followed Artemus's footprints on the verge of disappearing under growing inches of fresh snow. The chill sinking into his bones.

He found Artemus rolled in a ball against Mo's warm side, the gelding lying in a nest of thick layers of hay alongside Blackjack, their warmth melting the snow around them.

He was naked and shivering, breathing rapidly. His teeth were clattering his skin was blueish. He was softly crying into the gelding's white mane, his arms wrapped around the pinto's neck.

He was half- covered with powdered snow.

His heart beating wildly in his chest in deep worry, he headed toward Artemus as quickly as possible wincing and grunting with each step.

He wasn't surprised to find Artie here and doing that, he mused. He knew that when his best friend felt blue, after a particularly difficult mission, emotionally speaking or when he was homesick and needed his mom) he could talk for hours to Mo and Lockpick. The horses sensing his depressed mood responded with a series of sounds and muzzle strokes. The first time he'd done that, with Chestnut, Jim had been very surprised, and a little upset at being put aside. He was Artie's best friend, his confidant, and the other man told him everything ... but when he felt depressed, he preferred to chat with his horse. Artemus had then explained to him, when he was better, that he had been doing this since he was little. Having neither brother nor sister, he had become accustomed to talking about his state of mind to his horse.

He placed the blanket over Artie's shoulders and bent toward his partner, (as he couldn't crouch or kneel) and grimacing in pain, he placed a gentle hand on the older man's shoulder. "Artie?"

No reaction.

He shook Artie's shoulder again. "Artie! You can't stay here buddy, it's freezing and you're going to die in this cold."

But Artemus still didn't react.

He slapped the older man's face gently. "Artie! you can't stay here buddy."

Gritting his teeth against the agony in his injured leg, he all but collapsed on his knees next to Artemus and let out a yelp.

He slid an arm around Artemus's waist, pushed himself to his feet and began to pull him upright into an unsteady standing position.

Slowly blinking, shivers rocking his cold and rigid body, Artemus whimpered and looked at Jim with big wet unfocused eyes. "Jim? That you?"

Once he was up on his feet, he staggered on shaky legs. Immediately a spasming pain rippled up his injured ankle and he cried out. He took in a sharp breath of air, his teeth started clattering. "I'm lost, I'm cold, I'm wet and I'm scared.

Jim nodded, fighting to stay upright. "I know buddy. Hold on!"

Eyes wet with tears, Artie let out a sob. "I want to go home, Jim," he said with a small child-like voice, his eyes glazed over with confusion.

Helping Artie to walk, grimacing in atrocious pain with each step, Jim said, between two harsh breaths, "We will, I promise." Artie thought he was a boy, and lost, he realized. He was still under the influence of the medicine man's potion.

Feeling his naked body going numb with the icy cold he speeded up and accelerated even more when he saw that Artie's skin was turning blue. He was close to hypothermia.

Once in Left Hand's tepee, Jim collapsed onto the buffalo furs covering the floor pulling Artie in his fall next to the fire.

He yelped in pain and stars exploded in front of his eyes for a couple of seconds. He gritted his teeth fighting to stay conscious as blackness invaded his vision.

He needed to take care of Artie.

But he didn't have to as Left Hand entered the tepee and he let out, "Artemus… needs… help… cold…" And then he passed out.

His wound was bleeding again.

WWW

 _Later_

Nowoo3 wrapped Artemus, who was conscious but dazed in a couple of blankets then he cupped the white man's face finding it warm. He had maneuvered White Eagle close to the fire and the heat was starting to radiate toward them.

He looked up and said to the Arapaho Chief standing at his side, "It's the first time someone reacted this way to the potion."

He was still surprised.

Black Bear nodded. "Is he going to be alright?"

Left Hand nodded. "With time, yes, Wo'teenox. I can take care of him but it's going to take many moons for his injuries to heal."

Sitting beside his best friend, leaning like him against the buffalo pillows, his cold feet stretched toward the warmth of the fire, like Artie's, Jim said, "We can't stay here for several months, it's impossible. Our superiors will worry and send people to search for us ... and if they find us, they will find you too. We have to leave, Black Bear." Then he winced. His injury hurt.

Chief Wo'teenox nodded again. "Woxhoox Nookeih and four warriors will lead you to the foothills of the mountains. Once there, you'll have to reach Denver on your own."

Jim smiled. "Thank you very much." Then he frowned. "I'd like to ask you something. Why are you here with your band instead of being with the others in the Indian Territory? Because you don't want to be 'parked like animals' like the warrior with the red painted face told us?"

Black Bear nodded. "Woxhoox Nookeih is right. We were living in a small territory and were dependent of the Government supplies and were surrounded by soldiers, were prisoners. My band wanted its liberty back, wanted to hunt for food, wanted to live again like our ancestors lived before us, needed to come back here, to our ancestral lands. So, when the Apaches revolted, we seized the opportunity while the soldiers were busy quelling the revolt to escape. We traveled by night, and were very lucky that no one saw us, and settled here. No one knows that we live here deep in the mountains – except you."

Jim placed his hand on his heart and said, "You saved our lives, Artemus and I we will keep your secret. It's a promise."

Chief Black Bear nodded. "I trust you," he said.

Smiling, Jim added, "You should bury the man that your warrior killed. He needs a grave and no one will ever find him."

WWW

 _Three days later,_

 _Denver railroad yard,_

 _In the Wanderer, morning_

Sitting on the couch, with AG curled up on himself on his lap, his eyes closed, his injured leg resting on a pillow placed on a chair, Jim opened the Denver Herald.

He had just skimmed through the first (boring) articles when he heard a series of loud meows, and not coming from his own quiet cat.

He lowered the newspaper and looked at Artie as the other man entered the parlor car, yawning widely, followed by Marmalade and Aztec, both rubbing along and between their master's legs, long tails curling around Artemus's calves.

The older man was walking with the aid of crutches. His hair was wild and he hadn't shaved. He was wearing his robe on top of his navy pajamas. The jacket was unbuttoned and let show tight bandages wrapped around his aching ribs. His injured ankle was sporting a plaster cast.

Lowering the newspaper to one side on the gold-embroidered couch, Jim smiled. "Hi Artie, did you sleep well?" He asked.

Sitting gingerly on a chair, wincing, Artemus just groaned in response. He took the coffee pot and poured himself a cup of thick, dark, and steaming liquid.

He swallowed it in two gulps and grimaced. "Gaaah!" then he yawned again and rubbed his fatigue-red-rimmed eyes. "I feel like I just slept for a week and I'm still exhausted."

Marmie and Aztec leaped on the other couch and settled on a pillow each. They yawned too and closed their slit eyes.

Feeling suddenly alone, AG joined his adoptive mother and brother, moving onto his side in the middle if the two other cats.

Bracing himself on a walking stick, Jim joined Artie at the dining table. He cautiously sat down, minding his injured leg and said, "Actually, you didn't sleep for a week, but only for three days in a row in a hospital bed, before the doctor released both you, and me." He poured himself a new cup of coffee and added, "You needed all that time so that your system could get rid of Left Hand's drug."

Slumping weakly in his chair, Artie nodded. "Yes, and my cravings are gone."

Jim patted his partner's arm with affection. "Everything's over now buddy, your cravings have stopped, Loveless is in prison along with his accomplices, Kirk Garrett is dead – we saw him fall in a deep crevasse and he was killed - and we're still here."

Smiling Artie said, "Well, it's not true. We saw him being 'dropped' in a crevasse by White Wolf and he was dead long before hitting the bottom of it."

Grabbing a chocolate chip cookie from a plate set beside the pot of coffee, Jim nodded. "True, but the Colonel doesn't know that, and he won't know that. It's another story involving hiding Indians that we'll keep secret." Then he bit into it. "Once the Wanderer is ready to depart, we'll head to Washington DC. We should be there on Tuesday," he added.

Resting his head on the green and gold-fringed tablecloth that covered the table, Artie closed his eyes. "Ya, To end up right in Dr. Henderson's clutches and have Grant mother-henning me."

Jim grinned. "Same thing for me buddy – save Grant's mother-henning. You're the one Ulysses S. Grant loves like his own son."

Reopening his sleep-clouded eyes, Artie whispered, "Jealous?"

Swallowing the rest of the coffee Jim shook his head. "Oh no! I'm not, believe me. I don't want to have the President watching my every move."

He ate his cookie and fished a second one from the plate. "These cookies are delicious…"

Closing his eyes again, Artie replied, "Unlike your coffee… I should gave prepared it last evening after I made the cookies."

Suddenly the telegraph key came to life and Jim moved toward the work table. He opened the telegraph box and acknowleged the reception. A couple of seconds later a series of dashes and dots resounded in the parlor car, then, after thirty seconds, they stopped.

Jim signaled the successful reception of the message, smiled broadly and said, "That's good news! Loveless and his accomplices will stand trial next Wednesday. Colonel Richmond is expecting us in Washington as soon as possible to testify about Loveless's past and recent actions. You and I will be prosecution witnesses." He sat back in his seat.

Straightening on his chair, Artie yawned again. "It won't be the first time we've done that… Let's hope he doesn't escape from prison like he did before."

Hearing a knock at the door, Jim lifted his eyebrows in surprise. "Are we expecting someone?" Then, being cautious, he stood and took the gun hidden in the sideboard.

Fighting against sleep Artie responded. "Yes, I am. It's probably the delivery man. Early this morning I sent Kerry the new fireman to the market to buy a whole assortment of vegetables, fruits, meat, fish, etc. for our return trip. I found an old cookbook that belonged to my grandmother while I was searching for Napoleon's biography in my library in the lab. I'm going to prepare all kinds of Polish cuisine while on our way back to the Capital. I usually buy everything I need for the galley by myself, but walking with a plaster cast and crutches is difficult. So no shopping for me – not for weeks, until my broken ankle heals."

Still holding his gun Jim headed toward the door – using his walking stick, limping – and opened it a few seconds later.

He discovered a small, chubby, blond, young man – and was unable to give him a specific age –standing on the rear platform of the train. There were four baskets filled with food supplies sitting at his feet.

Marmie stared at the boy and let out a low growl. Artie raised his eyebrows, surprised. Marmalade loved everyone – well, until now, he thought. Puzzled, his frowned when he saw that now both AG and Aztec were glaring at the boy and hissing.

Jim slid the gun into his belt, at his back not wanting to scare the young man. "Ah! It's perfect. Bring the baskets inside my boy."

The boy nodded. "Yes Sir. Are you Mr. Gordon, Sir?"

Moving to the side Jim pointed at Artie trying to stand with the help of his crutches. "No, I'm not. This is Mr. Gordon, I'm Mr. West. Come in."

The boy complied, carrying two baskets first, placing them on the closest couch then he brought the last two inside the parlor car sitting them on the work table.

He smiled and opened his hand for a tip. "Do you need anything else, Mr. West? I can bring you anything, newspapers, cigars…"

Jim fished a quarter dollar from the pocket of his waistcoat and placed it in the young man's hand. "No thank you, we have everything we need."

The blond young man nodded. "Okay. Thank you Mr. West." He suddenly pulled a revolver from behind his back and pointed it at the agent. "Drop the gun I saw you put behind your back! Or I kill Mr. Gordon, and don't think I wouldn't do that."

In a flash the cats leaped from the couch and moved protectively in front of Artie, backs arched, fur on end, ears flattened, hissing menacingly, their claws gripping the carpet. Artemus realized then why the felines had reacted that way when they had seen the boy. They knew he was a dangerous. They had a better sixth sense than the humans.

Not impressed Jim said, "Aren't you a little young to rob trains?"

His eyes darkening the young man fired – breaking one of Artie's crutches in two – causing Artemus to collapse forward and then sideways to the floor. "I'm not joking," he said coldly, watching the older agent propping himself up on one elbow, wincing, tears of intense pain in his eyes.

Frightened, the cats found refuge under the couch and, raising a commanding finger, Artie said to the three pairs of luminescent eyes, "Stay there, don't move!"

Suddenly serious and worried Jim complied. Then he maneuvered Artemus on the sofa and looked back at the fake delivery man. "Okay. Now what?"

The young man grinned in victory and whistled. Shortly afterward two men entered the parlor car, holding a Colt each, hammers cocked. They were as tall as they were large. There was one dark haired and one red-haired.

Jim said, "Let me guess, you're not the delivery boy. You borrowed his baskets."

The young man showed a cold smile. "Actually I kidnapped him and his baskets. Then Harvey here tied him up, gagged him and put him in a big box near the station's wood depot." And the red-haired giant offered Jim and Artie a shark-like smile signaling he had done just that. "Now let me introduce myself, gentlemen: my name is… Michelito Loveless. I bet you know who my father is."

Immediately after that Artie and Jim exchanged a stunned glance.

The older man let out, "What?"

Rapidly shifting in unimpressed mode Jim said, "So you are Dr. Loveless's son? I didn't know he had a son… " He glanced at Artie still very surprised and added, "We need to update Dr. Loveless's file, Artemus." Then he looked back down at Loveless Jr. and crossed his arms on his chest. "But now that I know that… there are some resemblance between your father and you, you have his eyes, his chin… and the same taste in giant and dumb henchmen, and of course, like your dad, you want to kill Artemus and me – even though it's the first time we have met and we are not enemies… were, past tense, because threatening Secret Service agents is a federal offense. It must be a family tradition."

The young Loveless smiled. "I'm not going to kill you Mr. West nor Mr. Gordon, although I really, really want to. You are always interfering in my father's plans and, because of that he wasn't able to carry out a single of them, and he is so frustrated that he has ulcers and he's in a lot of pain. And I hate people who hurt my father, whom I admire above anything. And you are responsible for his recent imprisonment. No, I'm not going to kill you, unless President Grant refuses to exchange my father for you."

Crossing his arms on his aching chest, Artie said, "Is this your plan Junior? Kidnap Jim and me and exchange us for your dad? The President won't accept that. The President doesn't negotiate with kidnappers, even young ones." He frowned and added, "How old are you by the way?"

Michelito Loveless gave Artie a crocodile smile, "My age doesn't concern you. I'm old enough to be your worst nightmare."

Imperturbable, Jim nodded. "It sounds very Loveless-y."

Smiling Artie nodded, "You're right."

Loveless cotnued, "President Grant will refuse the exchange at first, yes, but he's going to comply after receiving pieces of you – like a finger or an ear - in a box delivered to the White House Mr. Gordon, my father told me about the father-son relationship Ulysses S. Grant has for you since the war." He gestured toward his two henchmen. "Now you're going to follow us, gentlemen and don't try anything rash, Harvey and Dows are the best gunslingers in this part of the US – and they won't hesitate to shoot you to cripple you." He gave the two agents a cold smile. "I never said I would release you _intact_."

Glaring at the young man, Artemus shook his head. "Like father, like son indeed."

Loveless 'Junior' pulled out two black bags from his jacket pocket. "But first put this on your head. I want to keep my hiding place secret."

WWW

 _Much later_

 _In a dungeon-like cell_

Sitting on a pallet Artie glanced around him and rubbed his arms vigorously in order to warm himself up. "I love the décor – very Loveless, and it's damn cold in here! He could have at least let me dress, before kidnaping me! I'm freezing. Brrrr."

Standing behind the metallic and barred door Jim sighed. "And for once I don't have any gadget on me – and that mini-Loveless made sure of it. His henchman, the red-haired one searched me from head to toe. His dad probably told him I usually carry lots of useful tools, concealed or not."

His teeth chattering, Artie nodded. "I'm going to invent some kind of miniature portable heater. That would be useful in situations like this one."

Jim smiled. "That's a good idea, but I think the bad guys wouldn't let us use it, thinking it could be some kind of weapon."

Artie chuckled. "I could turn it into one."

Still smiling, Jim joined his partner on the pallet. He rubbed Artie's back eliciting a moan of pleasure from the other man and suddenly stopped when the door opened.

Hungry and cold, and expecting a hot dinner, Artemus exclaimed, "Ah! I hope they bring us something to eat, hot soup, I hope."

Harvey and Dows entered the cell, gun in their hands, hammer cocked, ready to fire – preceding Michelito Loveless. The blond young man looked rather upset.

Rolling himself in a ball on the pallet, trembling even more, Artie scowled. "No hot soup," he said. He sent a black look at Michelito Loveless. "What do you want, Junior?"

Loveless took a step forward. "I sent a telegram to your commanding officer, Colonel Richmond telling him my proposition and told him to transmit it to the President: the two of you in exchange for my father. He answered me shortly after, his response was _no_ and Grant said _no_ too. I'm sure they will change their mind when they receive a piece of you, in a box, to begin with. They will receive two pieces of you the second day, then three pieces of you the third day, etc. until they have accepted. Harvey? Cut off one of Mr. Gordon's fingers – his forefinger for example. It's going to be very painful – and very disabling."

Harvey, the hulky red-haired henchman immediately unsheathed a long knife he had at his side and with a cruel smile he headed toward a ghastly-looking Artemus.

Pale as a ghost, Artie flinched and rasped, "What?"

But the man found James West in his way. "I don't think so, no," Jim said, chin raised defiantly and steel-like fists tightened.

In a flash Harvey brutally backhanded the younger Special Agent sending him flying against the nearest wall so hard that he banged the back of his head on it.

Seeing stars Jim pulled himself upright and leaped on the giant and managed to punch him twice before Harvey hit him on his head hammer-like, with an iron fist.

Pain exploded in Jim's head and he crumpled to the ground – passed out.

Standing on one foot Artemus raised his fists. "Don't come any closer," he said and then he punched Loveless's henchman once, twice in his ribs – with no effect. He took a step back and said, "Oh boy!" expecting to be punched back.

Harvey chuckled and punched Artemus in his stomach. Artie instantly sank to his knees and elbows on the ground and threw up between his hands. He fell to one side, gritting his teeth, jaws clenched as tears of pain rolled down his pale cheeks.

Michelito Loveless grimaced in disgust then pivoted as another man entered the room and gave him a piece of paper – that he read immediately.

Pressing his hands to his painful stomach Artie struggled to breathe. Dots swirled in front of his eyes, he was close to losing consciousness.

Harvey pined Artie to the ground with a foot pressing on the hollow of his back, then he roughly grabbed his right arm, yanked it up, almost dislocating the shoulder – eliciting a yelp from Artemus – and placed the blade against the other forefinger. He sliced it, and blood poured.

Loveless 'Junior' chuckled. "That's enough, Harvey, let him go." Harvey reluctantly complied and kicked Artie on his side, making him cry out in pain and curl up on himself, panting.

The young Loveless leaned toward Artemus. "You're lucky, Mr. Gordon, I'm not going to mutilate you. In fact I'm going to release you and Mr. West - intact."

Looking up at Michelito Loveless through tears-blurred vision, very surprised, but in a good way, Artemus asked, "Why?"

The blond young man brandished the piece of paper. "I've just received very good news from Washington. One of my father's men in Washington sent me this telegram: my father and Burton escaped during a transfer to the court jail. I could kill you both and offer your heads on a plate – literally - to my father as a gift to celebrate his escape and being free again, but I think he'll prefer to do it himself, later and enjoy every second of it, and I don't want to deprive him of that pleasure. He will know where to find you, to kill you, but he'll torture you first." Looking up at Harvey he said, "I don't want them to see where I live, so…"

Harvey hit Artie on his head. Blackness engulfed him.

WWW

 _Much later in the Wanderer_

Moaning, Jim woke first, lying on a couch. He winced as both his leg and head ached throbbingly, and, in a flash he remembered what happened.

He maneuvered himself into a sitting position, wincing, and spotted Artie sprawled on the other couch, one arm folded on his lap and one leg dangling over the side. "Artie! wake up buddy!" he said.

There was no reaction.

He stood and limped to the other side of the parlor car. He shook his partner's shoulder, waking Artemus with a start. "Artie, wake up buddy!"

Blinking Artie looked up at Jim then around him, immensely relieved. "Oh thank God! We're alive and back home." He buried his face in his hands. "Tell me that was a bad dream."

Jim shook his head. "It wasn't a dream, Artie, it was real." He sat on the edge of the couch and rubbed the top of his aching skull. "That Michelito is his father's son alright. He's very promising."

Looking at his bloodied forefinger Artie added, "Something tells me that it won't be the last time Loveless Junior and we will meet." He paused. "I need to clean it and apply a few stitches."

Jim sighed. "And something tells me too that the President is not happy now that Loveless and his henchman have escaped – again."

Artie groaned. "Something tells me that our next assignment is going to be to find them."

Smiling, Jim pointed at his best friend's leg encased in a cast. "Not our next, no. We're not going to have one before many weeks."

Glancing at his plaster-enveloped leg, Artie nodded. "Oh, you're right. I forgot that… Then we'll spend the coming weeks here, resting. That's good!" He had just said that, when the telegraph key clicked again. He frowned and added, "Or not."

Tbc.


	6. Tag

**THE NIGHT OF THE RESIGNATION**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **TAG**

 _One week later in Washington_

 _In the morning_

Pouring hot, steaming coffee in a mug for Jim sitting at the dinner table, Artemus said, "It's good to have a three weeks leave, we deserved that."

Smiling back at Artie Jim replied, "Yes, we did. Nothing to do for three weeks! That's perfect:" He took the mug and then added, "But that doesn't mean that we're not going to have some fun, of course."

Pointing at his crutches and plaster, Artie scowled and said, "I love leave, it gives me free time to invent and build things and write articles for scientific publications, but 'some fun'? in our state, we can barely walk, so we can't go out to the best restaurants, or to the theater or to the opera with lovely women at our side, and we can't dance either, where's the fun?"

Jim took a first sip of his coffee and then shook his head, "Well, if we can't have some fun outside with pretty young women, then let's bring them here."

Feeling gloomy, Artie asked, "How? We're stuck here remember?"

Jim brought the mug to his lips again, took another sip and then replied, "What about sending Kerry the new fireman to the Simpsons's house, for example? I'm sure Moira and Andrea will be delighted to come here. They love the Wanderer they call it a 'luxury hotel on wheels' and of course, they love us – a lot."

In a cheerful mood, Artie smiled. "That's a very good idea, yes, a great one!"

Suddenly, very strong gusts of fierce winds hit the side of the Wanderer, bringing swirling thick snowflakes against the windows.

Both men frowned, upset. Bad weather was going to jeopardize their chances of seeing the Simpsons' sisters, or anyone else.

Looking through a window they saw that the fat, wet flakes were falling hard. They couldn't see anything as the blizzard enveloped everything in white.

His frown deepening Artemus said, "They won't leave their house in a snowstorm, Jim. So much for inviting Moira and Andrea." He sighed. "It will be just you and me tonight." He shivered as the windows of the Wanderer started to be covered with ice, the temperature dropping a little in the parlor. "If it continues like that, we're going to get snowed in and be without female companionship for days."

Looking around him, Jim finally realized that the AG, Aztec and Marmalade were absent. "Speaking of companions, where are the cats? They're usually here for breakfast to have some milk."

Rubbing his chin pensively, his brain already working on his new invention, Artie responded distractedly, "Oh, they are in the stable car… I was brushing the horses a couple of hours ago, with the cats sitting around me when Aztec spotted a mouse in the hay and since then, Marmie, AG and he are hunting. As they didn't come back, either there are a lot of mice in the stable car and they are still hunting, or they are taking a nap after a good hunt."

He re-opened the notebook he had placed on the table, and pen in hand, he re-started writing notes next to his drawings and diagrams.

Curious, Jim asked, "You have been working on that project of yours since we arrived in Washington, but you didn't tell me what it is."

Pointing at the fake fireplace (an emergency escape way), Artie said, "We have a nice fireplace but we can't build a fire in it and it's too bad because we could use a good fire in winter or when we travel in cold places. The only warmth we have here and in our rooms is provided by the heat of the stove we have in the galley, and we have to keep all the doors open so as not to freeze when it's cold outside." He paused and swallowed a mouthful of strong coffee. "Not to mention that we have to put wood in the stove all day long and at night, taking turns, to keep the fire alive – speaking of which, it would be a good idea to feed the stove again, we have lost a few degrees."

Jim took a new sip of coffee and nodded. "It's a problem, I know. And you're working on a solution to that problem, right?"

Using his pen to tap on his ink-filled page, Artie responded, "Yes I am. Do you remember I told you that I was going to invent some kind of miniature portable heater when we were prisoner in that dungeon-like cell a week ago?" Jim nodded and he added, "I've been working on this device since we were released." He swallowed a mouthful of coffee and continued, "I'm working on mobile electrically powered portable heaters so you could literally move heat everywhere, to any part of the train."

Frowning, surprised, he asked, "Portable heaters? What's that?"

Pushing his notebook toward Jim, he showed him the numerous drawings and diagrams covering the white paper; and turned a few pages filled with other parts and specifications about his project. "I put everything here, in detail." And he explained, "Portable heaters are devices filled with oil. The same oil the Wanderer needs. And why oil and not water? Good question. Because the heat capacity of the oil is lower than that of water, it requires less energy to heat it. I would just need a simple electrical resistance to warm the oil, which will circulate within the metal tubing of the heater via convection. The heat of an oil-filled heater will be is transmitted from the liquid to the steel and then to the air by convection and radiation." He grinned proudly. "Simple. I just need material and time now to build a prototype."

Smiling Jim said, "It's very ingenious. That's a great invention, Artie! And a very useful one."

Smiling too, Artemus replied, "Like all the others."

They both looked through the window again, seeing the glass panel covering itself with ice. The storm was growing worse with each passing moment.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door and the two men exchanged a surprised gaze, then narrowed their eyes in suspicion.

Furrowing his brow, Artie said, "I'm not expecting anyone. Grab a gun!"

Pulling out the Colt he kept hidden beneath one of the cushions of the couch, Jim said, "I'm not either," and he limped toward the door and opened it.

Immediately a violent gust of icy air tumbled in and slapped him across the face as he gasped in surprise when he discovered a little blond girl standing on the rear platform covered with an already thick layer of powdery white snow.

She was holding a slide lid basket and she was shivering as snowflakes pelted her. "Help me," she said as her breath formed clouds that lingered in front of her small face. Her blue eyes were wet and tears rolling down her pale cheeks. "I lost my mommy." Then she burst into tears.

Sliding his revolver in his belt, Jim said, "Don't worry, we're going to find her." Then he took the little girl in his arms.

He closed the door stopping the whirling snow from coming inside the parlor, then brought in the little girl and sat her on the closest couch, beside Artemus and said, "You're safe here." Then he took his jacket off and placed it around her shoulders.

Standing and wincing, Artie said, "I'm going to prepare some hot chocolate for you," Then he headed toward the galley bracing on his crutches.

But the little girl said, "No! Don't go! Don't leave me alone, I'm scared!" New tears rolled down her brightly colored cheeks as she warmed up.

Taking the coverlet folded on the armchair, Artie turned around and headed back toward Jim and their unexpected guest. "I'm not going anywhere," he said, with a smile. He sat beside the little girl, and watched her set her basket on the coffee table. "What's your name?" He asked before gently wrapping her in the coverlet. "And what happened?"

She sniffed and then mopped her tears with the melted-snowflakes-wet sleeve of her coat. "My name is Carmelita, and I'm 7. I was walking with my mommy in front of the railroad station when there was… a like a thick curtain of snow… and she disappeared. I lost her!" She looked up at Jim, then at Artie, with a pleading look, "Help me please."

Smiling reassuringly Jim said, "Don't worry, she's not disappeared. You have been separated by the blizzard. She must be looking for you right now. We'll find her together, okay?"

Carmelita nodded. "Okay, thanks," she said with a small voice. Then she asked, "Can we go now? I really miss my mom."

But Jim and Artie suddenly realized that they couldn't go outside the train as they could barely walk, and the blizzard was terrible.

Smiling, Jim said, "I'm going to send someone to search for your mom. He'll bring her here, okay? In the meantime, take off your hat and coat, Artie is going to dry them near the stove. And take off your shoes too, they're soaked."

But instead of doing that, the little girl moved toward the coffee table and pulled up the lid her wicker basket and took two red apples from several other colorful apples contained within.

She offered one to Jim and one to Artie, "It's for you, to thank you for your help and hospitality. I bought them at the market with my mom. They come from the South. They're delicious…" She took a yellow apple and bit into it, smiling.

Smiling too, Jim bit into his apple, Artie imitating him. They had eaten half of the red fruit when Carmelita headed toward the door.

Feeling suddenly lightheaded the two men began to feel paralysis spreading through their limbs. Frowning in alarm they looked at each other. Something wasn't quite right. They were flushed, a headache was starting to bloom in their temples and they were suddenly hot.

Blinking Artie rasped, his tongue thick, "Poi… soned," almost falling over from the dizziness. His legs slowly gave out beneath him. He collapsed on the couch, heavily, and what was left of the red apple slipped from his slack fingers. "Apple…"

Dizziness setting in, Jim glanced down at the little girl – who was grinning at him predator-like, her blue eyes cold. Her eyes!

He hadn't noticed that before… she had Miguelito Loveless's eyes. Her father's eyes. "Oh no… it's his daughter," He croaked out.

His mind fuzzy, Artie let out, "What?"

Managing to slump in the couch beside his best friend, Jim pointed at Carmelita who was now looking at them cooly, "She's… Loveless's daughter, he said. He watched Artemus's cloudy eyes widen in surprise, then he added, "She poisoned us…"

He realized that the whole story she had told Artie and him was a lie. She had come here with one goal: to poison them.

He breathed, "We're dying…"

Suddenly there was a knock at the door and Carmelita opened it, revealing the bulky frame of Burton who entered the room accompanied by a whirlwind of snow. His hat and shoulders were white with accumulated snowflakes and his face was frozen-red.

The giant took the little girl in his arms and watched the two immobile secret agents, close to pass out, seated on the couch.

He chuckled. "Good job! Carmelita."

Carmelita closed her arms around Burton's large neck. "That was easy." Then she beamed with pride when Miguelito Loveless entered the room in his turn, holding an umbrella, which he shook and snow slid from the waterproof fabric. "Daddy! I did it!" She said.

Moving toward the paralyzed James West and Artemus Gordon, Dr. Loveless said, "It's good to see you again, gentlemen."

Unable to move a finger, Jim couldn't do anything but glare at his Nemesis when the little man took his place on the opposite couch, placing the folded umbrella beside him.

He couldn't even speak.

Loveless pulled out a Derringer from the right pocket of his coat covered with snowflakes and said, "I could kill you so easily…" He paused, enjoying Jim and Artie's black looks and added, "But I won't, not yet, no. I have to take my time over it, make you suffer to such a point that you will beg me to kill you to end your sufferings." He lowered the small gun and added, "Feel reassured, gentlemen, you won't die, but remain paralyzed only for a few hours and you won't remember any of this after the effects have disappeared. You see, that paralyzing poison has a very interesting side effect: a 24 hours or so memory loss." He put his Derringer back in his pocket and continued, "In a few hours you won't remember my daughter Carmelita and nothing that has happened in the last 24 hours. Isn't she adorable?" He stood. "As I was in Washington to see her mother, she asked me if she could meet you. I told her a lot about you…"

Carmelita frowned. "Bad men!" She said.

Loveless chuckled. "Yes, you're right sweetie, they are bad men, very bad men. She wanted to know you, so I made up that 'little girl lost' story for her."

Carmelita proudly grinned. "I poisoned them!"

Miguelito Loveless nodded, "Yes, you did, and I'm very proud of you, Carmelita. You are worthy of your name. You truly are a Loveless." He took his umbrella and stood up and then he joined his henchman and his daughter. He stroked her rosy cheek. "Mr. West, Mr. Gordon, we'll meet again. Be seeing you."

Burton lowered Carmelita Loveless to the carpeted floor. She aimed a black look at the agents and said, "We'll meet again, yes!"

Smiling, Miguelito Loveless took his daughter's hand and said, "Let's go home, Carmelita," then they both headed toward the snow-covered rear platform of the Wanderer.

Burton left the door open behind him.

The end


End file.
